


Tangled

by burgundydahlia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst, Angst and Romance, Breakups, Canon Compliant, Danger, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Triangles, Lovers to Friends, Mutual Pining, PTSD, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Romance and Drama, True Love, Unrequited Love, Wizarding World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-26 18:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14407737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burgundydahlia/pseuds/burgundydahlia
Summary: A plot to bring down one of the Wizarding world's prominent business leaders brings two friends back together after years of separation. But will their reunion be bittersweet? And what will happen when they realize nothing is as it seems?





	1. Mission Briefing

**Author's Note:**

> Years ago, I started writing this post-Hogwarts story about Ron and Hermione, but ended up abandoning it. It sat on my laptop collecting dust, but I always had it in the back of my mind until eventually I decided to give it a go again. I have totally revamped my story, really reworked (and in some cases, rewritten) it, and I have to say, I'm thrilled with how it's coming along! I have about half of the story written so far, so I'm hoping that by posting what I have so far, it will motivate me to keep going, but try to be patient as we go.
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you all love this story as much as I do. This was my first Romione fanfic I ever attempted, and it really is my precious baby. I have some seriously great plans for it, so I hope, dear reader, that you will stick with it, leave lovely comments when you can, and, most importantly, enjoy! <3

_“O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive!”_

_Walter Scott_  
 

* * *

 

A man sat outside, his knees tucked up against his chest as his arms hugged them loosely. A soft breeze ruffled his hair as he sat under a tree looking out into the distance at the sunset and the warm, orange glow that sat resting on the tops of the hills. He squinted as he gazed out on the horizon and realized that if he looked hard enough, he could just see the beginnings of the stars peeking out from the sky.

 

He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. His stomach twisted and churned inside him and he tried to focus on something positive; anything to get his mind off of what he was about to do. But no matter how hard he tried, all he could think of was her. It was as though every happy thought and every single memory, good or bad, was linked to her.

 

The sound of a door slamming shut behind him caused his eyes to snap open. He didn't look back, but he didn't need to; he already knew who was coming. He could smell her perfume, sweet and soft, as it floated over and lingered under his nose, teasing him. The soft crunching sound her shoes made on the dry grass came closer and closer and he felt himself tense.

 

_Please let this be the right thing to do…_

 

She sat down next to him under the iridescent sky and looked out towards the hills to watch the sunset, mirroring him. They were quiet, both comfortable in the silence and just being there together and with a swift pang, he realized that this was something he had always taken for granted; the fact that they were so comfortable together there wasn't always the need for conversation. He tried to soak in as much of the moment as he could, acutely aware of the fact that this probably would be his last with her for a long time.

 

With another deep breath in, he finally turned to look at her. She was still watching the sunset and he watched as the golden light from the sun bounced playfully off her hair and face, illuminating her perfectly in its fiery glow. A small smile played across her lips as she felt his eyes on her, but she didn't look over.

 

_Merlin, she's beautiful._

 

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

 

"What?" he said as he shook his head distractedly.

 

"The sunset. This year. Everything. It's simply...amazing."

 

"Oh. Right." He looked back out into the distance again, his mind a swirl of emotions.

 

"Are you all right?" she asked gently as she turned to look at him, her face etched with worry.

 

"Couldn't be better.”

 

She seemed unconvinced and frowned slightly as she watched him, but didn’t say anything more. Eventually she turned to look at the horizon again, watching as the sun burned brilliantly in the distance. Together, they watched as it slowly descended behind the hills, turning the tiny puffs of clouds pink, as though they were blushing in the sky. Everything was so beautiful and warm, but as he sat there working up the courage for what was to come, he found himself sickened at the sight. All he felt was empty and cold.

 

"We need to talk."

 

She looked at him, bemused, as an uncertain smile picked at the corner of her mouth. "Is this why you asked me to meet you outside?"

 

"It's about us."

 

Her smile flickered, but she seemed unfazed. "Okay. What about us?"

 

He stared ahead, determined to keep going and unable to look into her eyes.

 

"I can't do this anymore."

 

Her smile faded, and her brow creased in confusion. "What do you mean? You can't do what?"

 

His mouth was dry and he licked his lips nervously. She reached over and gently touched his forearm, and he felt himself stiffen immediately.

 

"You can tell me anything,” she said. “You know that."

 

He breathed in again, slowly.

 

"I…I don’t want to be with you anymore."

 

The silence that followed was deafening. He had thought – hoped even – that she would start yelling at him or maybe laugh. Instead she just sat there, her hand still on his arm. Unmoving.

 

"Look, things were fun while they lasted, but you can't actually think this thing we have is serious, can you?"

 

He felt her hand tense up, and knew he had hurt her. Ignoring the sick feeling inside his chest, he pressed on.

 

"The horcruxes are gone and Vol-“ he swallowed, “Voldemort is dead, and I – I need to move on. A fresh start you could call it. I can't deal with any old baggage." He tried to laugh, but it was all wrong; it came out short and sharp like a bark. She pulled her hand away quickly as though she had been burned.

 

“Baggage...” Her voice was quiet and slow, and she said the word as a statement rather than a question. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her everything would be all right, but he refused to look over at her and forced himself to continue.

 

"We had fun while it lasted, but I'm young. I have my whole life ahead of me. I’ve got Auror training and the joke shop. Besides, you’re going back to school for a year…” he hesitated, before adding venomously, “I mean, it's not like we were going to get married or anything."

 

_Yes, you could. You wanted to._

 

"I want to experience new things and new people – not be tied down to just one person."

 

_Liar. You want to be with her and only her._

 

"But…I thought…" she stuttered feebly as she struggled to comprehend what was happening. He gave her a quick sidelong glance and with another pang of regret, he noticed the pain on her face.

 

"What? You mean because we’ve…” he trailed off before giving another short, humorless laugh. “Just like a typical girl, really. You're all about the romance and the 'happily ever after' aren't you?” He shook his head condescendingly. “Honestly, you're supposed to be smart. How could you not have known?"

 

She was quiet for a moment, and then said in voice barely above a whisper, "You told me you love me."

 

His expression hardened. "I lied."

 

 _You pathetic, lying idiot! You_ do _love her! Don't you see what you're doing to her? To yourself?_

 

"I don't believe you," came her voice, stronger – almost defiant.

 

He opened his mouth to respond, but his voice died in his throat as he felt her soft, trusting hands on his face, forcing him to turn his head. He stared at the ground between them, fearing what would happen if he looked at her.

 

"If you mean what you say, then say it to my face. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me. That all this time together and everything we’ve been through and shared meant nothing to you." Her voice was steady and controlled. She seemed neither scared nor angry, but resolute.

 

Slowly, he brought his eyes up to her face. Her expression was determined, but behind her brave façade, her eyes were soft and he could she was on the verge of tears. All it would take was a few words from him to break down that wall and shatter her heart.

 

"Well?"

 

He took a deep breath, pulled her hands off his face, and stared directly into her eyes.

 

"I don't love you."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ron woke with a gasp.

 

His heart was hammering in his chest and he could feel tiny beads of sweat across the top of his forehead. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus his eyes on the blurred, dark room around him and with a shaky breath in, he pushed himself up until he was sitting upright. Grabbing blindly at the nightstand, Ron turned the small, dinged up alarm clock towards him so he could read the time. 4:48 A.M.

 

Running a hand through his hair, Ron closed his eyes and rested his head against the backboard. He took long, steady breaths in through his nose and blew out through his mouth, focusing on the feeling of the cold wood against his bare skin of his neck. His heartbeat was still racing and he could feel adrenaline coursing through him, making him antsy as he sat there, trying to will himself to calm down.

 

This was hardly the first time he had relived that particular moment; in fact, it had been a nightly occurrence for weeks right after it happened. And over time, it had become scattered in its appearances, much to his relief. But even still, three years later, the memories of that night still popped up from time to time, haunting his dreams and leaving him shaken the next day.

 

He took a few more long, steady breaths in through his nose and out his mouth and waited for his heartbeat to slow as he ran an unsteady hand through his hair. Knowing that any hope for sleep was futile, he pushed off his comforter with a grimace and got out of bed, shuffling towards the bathroom to take a shower. He let the cold water wake him up, hoping to wash away the remnants of the night before, then got out and brushed his teeth and his hair before changing into his dark gray Auror robes.

 

His small, dingy flat had begun to fill with sunlight, casting long shadows across the room as he walked out to the small kitchen space and rummaged around his mostly bare cupboards so he could make some coffee. As he filled a garishly orange Chudley Cannons mug with the steaming, black liquid, a small owl tapped at the window, a letter tied to its leg. Mug still in hand, he let the bird in, and after untying the letter and giving the owl a treat before it took off again, he unrolled the parchment and read its short contents.

 

 

 

> _Come into the Ministry at 7:00 AM sharp this morning so you may be briefed on your new mission. You will be starting immediately so be prepared to leave shortly after. All details will be given once you arrive._
> 
> _**K**. _ **_Shacklebolt_ **

  

He glanced at his watch. 6:30 already.

_Oh, how time flies..._

 

With little time to waste, he made up some toast and quickly swallowed as much of his coffee as he could, burning the roof of his mouth in the process. Then, grabbing his wand and making sure his flat was locked, he turned on the spot and Apparated into the main building of the Ministry.

 

As he walked through the Atrium of the Ministry, witches and wizards hurrying about as they began their work days as well, it occurred to him just how truly strange it was that, even though he had been training as an Auror for just over three years, he had spent almost no time actually inside the building. However, now that his training was complete, he had all but expected to be assigned a boring desk job, especially seeing as he was still relatively new to the department. However, being given an actual mission for his first real assignment wasn't anything to complain about, and he knew it. Most new Aurors weren’t entrusted with this sort of responsibility so soon out of training.

 

With a slight skip in his step, he stepped into one of the lifts, tapping his foot rapidly as he waited for the cool sounding woman's voice to call out, "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

 

Walking past the many offices that ran down the long corridor, he glanced briefly out the window; with a small smirk, he could see that it had been charmed to be hailing, a sign that the Magical Maintenance crew was still trying to work out proper pay raises.

 

As he approached the heavy oak door to Kingsley's office, he felt a hand clamp onto his shoulder.

 

"Ronald Weasley."

 

Ron turned, a smile tugging at his mouth as he looked into the face of his best friend, Harry Potter. "What are you doing here so early in the morning?"

 

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," Harry smiled warmly, taking his hand off of Ron's shoulder.

 

"Kingsley owled this morning saying I needed to be here at 7:00 so I could be briefed on a new mission. You?"

 

"Same. I wonder if this means we’re going to be working together? But, then again, Sean and Tony are here too, and so is Gemma –”

 

"Gemma's here? _Now_?" Ron groaned as he scanned the corridor rapidly.

 

Harry chuckled. "Now, now Ron. You weren't acting like this just two weeks ago. In fact, if I remember correctly, you seemed to want nothing more than to have her around."

 

"Shut up, Harry,” Ron said, before adding in a low voice, “I still can’t believe how drunk I got. If I ever do that again, _and_ with a ministry official…" Ron shook his head miserably.

 

Harry patted Ron’s shoulder bracingly. "You had a rough night – it happens. I think the worst thing you have to worry about is some potential weirdness around the office.” Harry paused. “How are you feeling now?”

 

"As well as to be expected I s'pose,” Ron shrugged, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible. He looked down at his watch. "Damn. It's 7:05. So much for 7:00 AM sharp."

 

"We'd better move it before Kingsley kicks us off the mission before we even start."

 

Both men quickly walked to the end of the corridor and opened the door to Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. Inside sat Sean McLean, a tall, sandy haired, thirty-something Irish man, Antonio "Tony" Mariano, a robust man in his early forties with thick eyebrows and a hearty laugh, and Kingsley Shacklebolt himself sitting behind a large desk. He hadn't changed much from the first time that Ron and Harry had first met him when they were fifteen; he was still the formidable wizard they had known for six years, but now, as the Minister of Magic, there were definitely more wrinkles on his once young face and also quite a few more scars.

 

"You're late," he said in his low, rumbling voice as they walked in.

 

"Sorry—" Harry began but stopped abruptly as Kingsley raised his hand to silence him.

 

"Now that everyone is here, I think it would be a good idea to get started." Kingsley stood up and turned to a file cabinet by his desk, pulling out two large files, and handed one each to Tony and Sean. "Inside of those folders are the orders for each of your assignments," Kingsley stated as he sat back down again, looking at the four men in front of him. "You four will not all be working together directly, but try not to look so discouraged, Weasley," he said, looking to Harry and Ron. "I know better than to split up the 'dream team' completely." He smiled briefly, and continued. "These assignments are linked together, so it seemed only appropriate that I ask for all of you to be here while we go over the details. McLean, if you would take a look at your folder."

 

Sean opened it and inside found a large stack of parchment, a map, and a dozen or so pictures of different men and women staring menacingly up at him. "As you can see, you have 15 or so profiles on different witches and wizards that we are after either for arrest or questioning.

 

"Now, as you all probably know, the Ministry has been investigating a secret organization that calls themselves the International Wizarding Partnership, or I.W.P. for short, for several months. Don’t be fooled by their name, however; they are a group of dangerous and ruthless witches and wizards who have been behind the break-in's of some of Europe’s most prominent Wizarding companies."

 

"Any idea who the ringleader is?" Sean asked while flipping through the pile of scowling pictures. Harry and Ron, who stood behind the two men, leaned closer to get a better look at the contents of the folder.

 

"Unfortunately, no. However, we have been tracking the group’s progress and they’re picking up steam. While we still believe they are a small contingent, they’re growing bolder. Just this last month, we linked them to the disappearance of the shopkeeper of Baubles and Bangles in London.”

 

“Baubles and Bangles? The jewelry store? What would they want with a jeweler?” Sean asked.

 

“We’re not sure yet, but we have a few leads.” Kingsley pointed to the papers Sean was holding. “That folder you have details the disappearance and the investigation we’ve done thus far. It doesn’t seem as though the I.W.P. were interested in the actual goods in the store, but there’s still too much that doesn’t add up. You will be working with the Auror taskforce that has been investigating the break in. You will also find the map included is marked to show the patterns developing across London in the last six months.”

 

Kingsley looked at Harry. “Potter, you will be working with and reporting directly to McLean on this investigation. He will be helping head up the search for these men and women. This is a big investigation and we will need most of our Auror manpower here at the Ministry, but I know you can handle this.”

 

"So, what do you need from us?" Tony asked, referring to Ron and himself. Ron perked up; the thought of being given a job like looking for a group of power-hungry criminals and bringing them down in a heroic fashion was an exciting one.

 

"As I said before, your mission is closely related to the one I have assigned for Sean and Harry. However, you will be focused more on protection and preventative measures.” Kingsley stood up and went over to his window where the hail had progressed into something more like a blizzard. "As you can imagine, with the rash of crimes against businesses in the London area, and now the possibility of kidnappings, we are taking any and all threats made to those in the community very seriously.” He turned back towards the group and pointed to the folder Tony was holding. “If you take a look at your paperwork, you will find information about Christopher Rhiney."

 

"Hang on – THE Christopher Rhiney?" Ron blurted. “The business tycoon?” He stared down at the picture that Tony had just pulled out of the folder. The man in the photo was young, probably somewhere in his mid-twenties by the look of it, and very handsome. He had light, wavy brown hair and big, brown eyes that seemed to twinkle even in the picture, with a strong jaw and clean-shaven face, and a smile that would have put Lockhart to shame.

 

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "You’ve heard of him?"

 

"Who hasn't?” Ron spluttered. “He practically owns half of wizard London, and has the largest import/export company in Europe. Plus, he was named Witch Weekly's Richest Man in the U.K. and just beat out Harry for the spot of most Eligible Bachelor."

 

A somewhat stunned silence met this outburst and Ron felt himself go red. "Sorry – my mum – she always has that bloody magazine lying around the Burrow. She's obsessed with the man..."

 

Kingsley chuckled softly and turned back towards the group, "Well, then it’s a good thing I chose you for this assignment, Weasley. What with your insight on him already, there shouldn't be much to tell you."

 

"But Minister, with all due respect, I still don't see what he has to do with any of this. Are we investigating Mr. Rhiney?" Tony asked.

 

"No, not quite. As you already know, Christopher Rhiney is one of the wealthiest businessmen in all of Europe. And, unsurprisingly, he has become a top target for the I.W.P. Inside your folder are copies of the letters the I.W.P. have been sending to Mr. Rhiney over the past two months. As you can see, the threats are getting increasingly worse."

 

Tony pulled out multiple pieces of parchment and studied the different letters before handing them to Ron who read over them carefully.

 

"Because of this escalating threat, and the continued and steady escalations being seen in the greater Wizarding community, it has become clear that Mr. Rhiney and his staff are in need of additional protection.” Kingsley sat back down at his desk, leaning back as he placed his folded hands on his lap. “If this had been something unrelated to the I.W.P. file, we wouldn't be as directly involved. However, as soon as I learned of the circumstances of this particular case, I saw this could lead us to the break in the I.W.P. case we’ve been searching for. If we can follow Mr. Rhiney and be there when the I.W.P. tries to strike, we may be able to stop them before they can do any more damage."

 

"So, you want us to tail him?" Ron asked, hopefully.

 

"We believe the threat to Mr. Rhiney and those closest to him has become too great. Because of this, we need to run round-the-clock surveillance. And I would like for you two," Kingsley nodded to Tony and Ron, “to head this up. The plan at this time is to have Aurors with Mr. Rhiney 24/7, with some even stationed at his home. Mariano, you will run point on this and Weasley, you will be his second. There will, of course, be other Aurors available if you need added security, but the main concerns at this time are Mr. Rhiney’s day-to-day business dealings and his safety while at home.”

 

There was a moment as this information sunk in. Ron could feel his brain slowly putting into place what Kingsley was saying.

 

"You want us to stay at his home, sir?" Tony asked, and Ron found himself looking at Kingsley wide-eyed, finally realizing what he was being told to do.

 

"Yes. You and Ron are to go and stay with Mr. Rhiney while there is still a threat to himself and his organization. I need there to be people close to him at all times to make sure that all his transactions go smoothly and also to report if there is any odd behavior or anything suspicious happening. With you two there to watch him and his affairs, we are almost guaranteed the capture of some of the members of the I.W.P."

 

He looked over at the clock on the wall and his eyes widened slightly. "Damn. 7:30 already. Look, I have full confidence that you four are more than capable of handling these assignments. If there are any more questions, you can send word by owl, however I must get going. I have a meeting in ten minutes that I cannot be late for." As he stood, the other men in his office followed in suit. "Weasley. Mariano. Mr. Rhiney is expecting you at his home at noon. McLean and Potter – you can meet with the team investigating the disappearance at 8 A.M. for a more thorough briefing. All four of you will need to make sure to speak with Gemma before you leave, however. She will be your main point of contact here at the Ministry and you are to contact her for any changes or if you need anything."

 

Kingsley grabbed a long cloak off a coatrack and headed for the door. Before leaving the room, he turned around, and smiled briefly. "Good luck, gentlemen," he said, then turned on his heel and walked out. After a couple of seconds, the four men eventually filtered out of the office and back into the corridor.

 

Tony immediately turned to Ron. "You and Harry head over to meet with Gemma now. We’ll meet you there shortly – Sean and I have some things to go over first.” With that, Tony and Sean turned and headed over towards Tony's office.

 

"Shall we?” Harry asked.

 

"Yeah. Better to get it done with now," Ron said glumly.

 

"I don't know why you’re so miserable. This is huge! We're working on one of the biggest cases of the year!"

 

Ron snorted. "No, _you're_ working on one of the biggest cases of the year while I'm stuck playing babysitter to some rich prat."

 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, come off it, Ron. What you're doing is just as important as what I'm doing and you know it. Hell, you may even find who’s behind this whole thing while working for this Christopher Rhiney bloke.”

 

"Maybe,” Ron said as they approached Gemma’s office door and stopped outside. “But I wish that I could be out there with you, mate. Out where all the action is."

 

"Well, good morning to you too, Ron,” a soft, sultry voice chimed in.

 

Harry and Ron turned and found themselves face to face with a very pretty and petite woman with long, icy blonde hair pulled high into a ponytail. Her lips were painted a bright red color and she had matching red nail polish, while her robes were such a dark shade of green, they were almost black. Ron could feel himself grimace as her grey eyes looked eagerly up into his blue ones, boring into them.

 

"Good morning, Gemma," Harry said politely.

 

"You know, Ron,” she said breathily, ignoring Harry, “I had a lot of fun with you a couple weeks ago.” She smiled coyly up at him, her red lipstick glinting in the light. “In fact, I was hoping maybe we could grab a drink sometime.”

 

“Erm – look, Gemma, we’re here to go over the details for the I.W.P. case, so can you just give us the rest of our mission info so we can go?" Ron asked, his ears burning.

 

She seemed to deflate somewhat, and responded waspishly, "I can't. Not until your team leads come back at least." Sensing a new opportunity, she walked back into her office. "Why don't you two come in and take a seat.” She smiled sweetly and pointed to the two chairs in front of her desk. “Relax. I won't bite. I promise."

 

With a quick, sideways glance toward one another, Ron and Harry walked in and sat down.

 

"So, Harry,” Gemma sat up straighter, smiling mischievously. “How are you? I heard a rumor you might be getting quite serious with your girlfriend. She plays for the Harpies, doesn’t she?”

 

Harry coughed, stealing a quick glance at Ron, then chuckled. "Erm, yes, she does. And, well, yes. We’re very happy."

 

Gemma clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Well, I find that a bit tragic, really. Witch Weekly might have named this Christopher Rhiney fellow you’re all working to protect the most Eligible Bachelor, but everyone knows that the Boy Who Lived will always be highly sought after. You must have your pick of witches.”

 

“Er – thanks?” Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat while Ron snorted, glad to have the attention off him.

 

A knock at the door stopped all further conversation pertaining to any of their love lives, much to the relief of Harry and Ron.

 

"Sorry 'bout makin' you wait," Sean said as he walked in, followed by Tony. “What’ve you got for us?"

 

Gemma waved her wand and a file cabinet behind her popped open, while two bright purple folders floated out and landed at the edge of her desk in front of Harry and Ron.

 

"Just more detailed versions of what the Minister told you earlier, plus some rules and regulations as to what you can and can't do, say, etcetera, etcetera.” She looked at Sean and Tony. “You know the drill, gentlemen. Make sure to keep detailed notes of all your work, file all your paperwork on time so I don’t have to come after you for it, and if anything happens or changes, you need to notify the Ministry, namely myself, so that it can be cleared and covered right away. Now, in your case," she said indicating Ron and Tony, "since you two are supposed to be watching over Mr. Rhiney 24/7, there are a few more things that apply to you that don't apply to Mr. McLean and Mr. Potter. For example, one of you must be within a reasonable distance of Mr. Rhiney at all times. The Minister also wanted me to make it clear this means that you can, and should, consider taking shifts, especially when it comes to staying at the home itself. However, it is up to you two to decide what will be the best course of action. Your meeting with Mr. Rhiney today should allow for you both to gain a better understanding of his day-to-day routines and what will be most effective.

 

"Really, gentlemen, just use your common sense. That way, no one will have to worry about the Minister’s foot being shoved up their arse because they didn't follow protocol."

 

Tony guffawed. "Duly noted, Gemma. Are we free to go?"

 

"Yes, just don’t forget to take these mission planners." As the four of them got up to leave, Gemma called out, "Oh, and Ron?” Ron spun around, facing Gemma in her office. Alone.

 

“I just wanted to say good luck with finding your 'action'. Although,” she batted her eyes and looked up at him, “I might be able to help you there…" She raised an eyebrow and smiled. Ron, feeling his entire face flush, nodded curtly and walked out, closing the door behind him.

 

"Bloody hell..." he muttered to himself.

 

Harry, who was waiting for Ron to come back out, chuckled at the look on his face. "I guess I'd better watch out. From the way she was acting around you, I might have to worry about losing my spot as second most eligible bachelor."

 

"Bugger off, Harry," Ron snapped.

 

"It’s all right, mate,” Harry pressed on, stifling a laugh. “You're a good man and I don't mind losing the title to you."

 

“I really hate you sometimes.”

 

“Do you think Gemma would make you wear a necklace that says ‘My Sweetheart’ like Lavender did in our sixth year?”

 

" _Good bye_ , _Harry_ ," Ron said loudly.

 

Harry laughed. "I'll see you later, Ron. Try to Floo me if you can."

 

"I will. See ya."

 

As he watched Harry jog down the hall to meet up with Sean, Ron shook his head. He turned and saw Tony walking up, folders in hand.

 

"So, Weasley, are you ready to go?"

 

Ron took a deep breath.

 

"Let's go."


	2. Rhiney Manor

 

* * *

  
Ron sat in the passenger seat of the Ministry van, directions in hand, while Tony drove. It seemed that this Christopher Rhiney liked his privacy and indeed, as they rushed past rolling hills of plush, green countryside, it was clear that this man was not one for unannounced, or unexpected, visitors.  
  


They hadn't actually left the Ministry until closer to 9:30 that morning after finishing some last minute paperwork and securing transportation. Usually, they would have been able to Floo to their destination; however, because of the heightened security status of Mr. Rhiney’s case, and at the request of Mr. Rhiney himself, they were forced to travel by car. Ron stared dazedly out the window at the stretch of road that lay before him. It was a beautiful and crisp September morning; the sky was a bright, cornflower blue and there were puffs of clean, white clouds floating lazily across it. A few cows grazed on the tall grass at the side of the road and barely acknowledged the car speeding by. Ron stifled a large yawn as and rolled his neck and adjusted slightly in his seat, his mind wandering aimlessly as they travelled.  
  


Training to be an Auror had been a massively stressful undertaking and the source of many sleepless nights and early mornings. Even after his death, Voldemort's presence had loomed large over the world as the after effects of the war came into play. But for three years, Ron and Harry had studied, trained, and fought against the lingering dark forces throughout Europe, working diligently with the Ministry to help root out the remaining Death Eaters, and helping to rebuild the Wizarding World, piece by piece.  
  


And while it had been strenuous and dangerous work, it had also been largely successful. The world was much safer now than it had been in the days and weeks following the Battle of Hogwarts. His efforts, along with Harry’s, had helped bring about significant changes to the Ministry and the world. But while it didn’t make up for all the losses in his life and in the lives of others, it still helped take the edge off from the pain of countless lonely, sleepless nights and the numerous sacrifices, big and small, he had made.

  
He knew in many ways he would never be the same. And he knew that he would probably live the rest of his life with some degree of regret. But if the Wizarding world was safe – and more importantly, if _she_ was safe – then he could deal with it.

  
Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat again, stifling another yawn before gazing out the window at the road ahead. But as he looked out into the distance, he saw a building sprout into view and felt his jaw drop. A giant, gleaming estate stood towering in the distance, surrounded by tall, brick walls with creeping vines adorning them and a large brass gate leading in to the property.

  
“Damn…” Tony said, chuckling. “Not exactly understated, is it?”

  
As they drove up to the gate, Tony stopped the car and rolled down his window. Almost instantly, they heard a cool, female voice, much like the one at the Ministry.

  
“Please state your name and business.”

  
“Anthony Mariano and Ronald Weasley. We're Aurors here on official Ministry business. Mr. Rhiney is expecting us.” There was a short silence, then a small _ping!_ as the gates opened.

  
"Thank you and welcome to Rhiney Manor."

  
The driveway was made up of small, white pebbles that crunched under the weight of the van and growing along the sides of the path were large hedges cut into the shapes of different animals. At the end of the driveway and leading up to the house sat an ornate fountain, the water glittering like diamonds in the sun as it fell. Tony pulled the van up to the front to park and both men hopped out, squinting up at the giant building standing in front of them. Up close, the house was even more impressive than Ron had first thought, with at least two-dozen windows along the front alone and tall, white pillars encircling the front doorstep. As they made their way up the steps to the front door, bags in hand, Ron noticed a large, brass knocker in the shape of a fox head sitting in the middle of it. For a moment, he could have sworn it smiled at him.

  
Tony grabbed the ring hanging from the fox’s mouth and knocked three times. Almost immediately, the front door swung open revealing a small, and stooping elderly man.

  
“Ah, yes! Good of you to come!” he piped cheerfully, beckoning them inside. As Ron followed Tony into the house, he once again found himself struggling to not openly gape as he looked around.

  
The front entryway was downright cavernous; a grand staircase with black and gold wrought iron banisters sat against the left side of the room and lead up to a large landing at the top which overlooked the entrance. The white marble floor under them sparkled in the sunlight that shone through the windows and above them, an opulent chandelier dripping in crystals hung from the ceiling. Just past the foyer and underneath the staircase to their left ran a hallway leading to more of the house, and to the right was a set of large French doors leading into a spacious dining room with a long, antiqued oak table and matching chairs.

  
The little old man was dressed in clean, black robes and bowed so deeply as he greeted them, it reminded Ron strongly of the house elf, Dobby.

  
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Benson, and I am the head of Mr. Rhiney's staff here. I have been asked to show you into the drawing room while Mr. Rhiney finishes up some business.” He turned to his right and walked through the double doors, closely followed by the two gawking Aurors.

  
Just past the dining room another set of large French doors opened up to the stately drawing room. Benson led the way, opening the doors ahead of Tony and Ron who shuffled in after him, their eyes darting from the large paneled windows that stretched upwards towards the ceiling with long, draping curtains tied off to the sides with thick, gold tassels, to across the room where a magnificent carved marble fireplace sat in the middle of the far wall. In front of the fireplace was a glass coffee table surrounded by plush, plum colored high-backed chairs and matching sofas. To the right sat a noble looking grandfather clock, quietly ticking away, as well as an elegant glass Wizard’s chess set on a small, carved ebony table. On the walls hung numerous paintings and where there were none stood towering bookshelves packed full with books and small trinkets. As the three men walked through the room, the subjects inside the gilded frames began whispering excitedly and pointing at Ron and Tony.

  
Benson guided the two men to the pair of high backed chairs in front of the fireplace, and as Ron sat down, he couldn’t help but to stare around the room dumbfounded. How could any one person be this rich? He couldn't seem to wrap his brain around the idea that a man as young as Mr. Rhiney could have acquired so much in so little time, and virtually out of nowhere. But before he could begin to speculate, the sound of footsteps interrupted his train of thought and Ron looked up just as the man in question walked in.

  
Just as every photo ever taken had portrayed and every flowery, glowing article dedicated to him had described, Christopher Rhiney was an incredibly good looking and charming man in person. He swept into the room elegantly, wearing nothing short of the best robin’s egg blue robes money could buy. His light brown hair fell softly onto his brow, and his brown eyes seemed to twinkle just as they had in the picture Ron had seen earlier that morning. Clearly confident and put together, Ron watched as the man strode over to where they sat – he was surprisingly tall, though not as tall as Ron, but as he entered the room, he smiled widely and held his hands out in a warm greeting.

  
“Hello! I apologize for making you wait. I'm afraid my last meeting took a bit longer than was anticipated and I lost track of the time. Anyway, welcome to my humble home!” He shook both Tony and Ron's hands enthusiastically and flashed another brilliant smile. “I must tell you how very grateful I am to the Ministry for doing this for me. I know it must be a hassle, but I am in debt to you both.”

  
“It's not a problem, Mr. Rhiney," Tony said politely.

  
“Oh no, I can’t allow for you two to be so formal. Please, I insist - call me Chris," he said kindly, flashing another toothy grin at them. “Benson, would you be so kind as to take... er, I’m sorry – I believe I forgot to ask your names.”

  
Tony smiled. "I'm Anthony Mariano and this is Ronald Weasley.”

  
“Perfect! Benson, if you would please take Mr. Mariano's and Mr. Weasley's luggage up to their rooms, I can show them around the manor."

  
“Certainly, sir.” And with another deep bow, Benson left the room to collect the forgotten bags in the foyer. Chris twirled back around to face them and smiled once again.

  
“Gentlemen, if you would please follow me, I would love to take you on a tour of the property.”

  
Tony glanced briefly over at Ron. “Actually, we were hoping to sit down and discuss some of the particulars of your case –”

  
“There will be plenty of time for that!” Chris said, waving a hand dismissively. “You two are doing me an incredible favor by agreeing to live here and I want for you both to feel as comfortable as possible. We can discuss the details later. Come come! I won’t take no for an answer!”

  
Ron looked sidelong at Tony and watched as the burly Auror gave Chris a thin smile. “A tour sounds great.”

  
“Wonderful!” Chris cried as he clapped his hands together. “If you’ll both follow me.” He led them out of the drawing room and back through to the dining room. “Now, the doors straight ahead of you lead back out to the foyer, as you know, while the door to your right will take you to the kitchen. If ever you want anything, please feel free to stop in. However, when he's here, Cook will be more than willing to help with anything you may need." He led them back out into the foyer and pointed. “If you go down that hallway and through the door at the end, that is where my study is. I conduct most of my business in there, especially recently, what with all that’s been going on. There's also an extra loo and a coat closet in case you are in need of either.”

  
He started walking up the stairs, followed closely by Ron and Tony. “Up here are the bedrooms. Down at the end on the left is the master bedroom, but these two rooms here will be both of yours while you stay here.” Leading them into one of the spare bedrooms, Ron gaped at how spacious and beautifully decorated it was, with bright white walls and soft, plush carpets. A large, four-poster bed with giant, fluffy pillows and crisp, white sheets sat against the back wall with small, matching oak nightstands on each side. Across the room and facing the bed sat another carved marble fireplace, and above the mantle hung an oval, gold framed mirror

  
“Both of these rooms are practically identical,” Chris said quickly. “And, like the other bedrooms in the manor, they have their own bathrooms, walk in closets and fireplaces, all of which are connected to the Floo network." He smiled somewhat sheepishly as he looked at both men. “I’m afraid I must apologize for any trouble I may have caused earlier by asking you to arrive via car. I can be a bit… particular about who comes in and out of my home, and considering the circumstances as of late… well, I hope you both can understand.”

  
“It was no trouble at all,” Tony said kindly as he looked to Ron momentarily. “It gave Ron and I here the chance to enjoy the drive.”

  
Chris smiled broadly. “It _is_ quite a lovely drive out here, isn’t it? You know, I was just telling my dear friend, Jonny Nuhaka – ”

  
“ _You_ know Jonny Nuhaka?” Ron blurted suddenly and both men turned to look at him. “ _The_ Jonny Nuhaka? The Keeper for the Australian National Quidditch team?”

  
“Yes, I do. He’s an old friend of mine. Loves to send box seat tickets ‘round when the team is playing England,” Chris said, looking quite pleased. “I must say I’m quite impressed with your Quidditch knowledge, Ronald. Perhaps I can persuade Jonny to pop in sometime.” He studied Ron for a moment longer, then smiled toothily again. “Shall we continue to the rest of the house?”

  
The three men walked back out onto the landing at the top of the stairs before heading down and out towards the backyard. As they walked, Chris continued speaking at length about the house, detailing the ins and outs of the manor, as well as dropping tidbits about some of the more grandiose items and anecdotes about famous friends.

  
“If you look here, you’ll see the baby grand piano – not that it gets much use, unfortunately. It was a gift from Heathcote Barbary of the Weird Sisters after I helped him out of a particularly sticky shipping emergency last year. I said to him, ‘Heath, I don’t even know how to play the piano,’ but he was so grateful, he practically insisted! But now I’m afraid it’s more for show than anything else. Though it’s just as my friend, Barnabus Cuffe, told me, it’s the thought that counts and really, when you’re friends with an international rock star such as Heath, you should come to expect that sort of over the top generosity!”

  
“Er, Barnabus…?” Ron asked hesitantly as Chris led them out the double doors in the back of the house to the patio.

  
“Barnabus Cuffe, the editor of the Daily Prophet. Dear friend, of course. Ah! Here we are!” Chris stopped at the edge of the patio, allowing Ron and Tony the opportunity to take in the sight of the yard. It was just as massive and impressive as the inside of the house, with lush, green lawns that seemed to stretch on forever, a beautiful rose garden dotted with different colored blooms and stone benches lining the sides, and a small pond filled with fish who looked up eagerly as the men walked past. Overhead, the sun shone brightly and a small breeze ran through the yard, bringing with it the sweet scent of flowers and fresh cut grass. A bit further back and tucked away at the edge of the property sat a small stone cottage, which Chris pointed to. “That over there belongs to Benson. He is the only person on my staff who lives on the property, so I felt it only appropriate to give him his own living quarters.”

  
“How long as Benson been employed here?” Tony asked as the three men walked along the rose garden and surveyed the grounds.

  
“Benson has been with me since I first moved here about two years ago,” Chris said fondly. “He’s a diligent worker and extremely trustworthy. And I imagine he will be a great tool for you two as you get settled in here as well.”

  
“And you feel… confident in his loyalties?” Tony pressed. Chris turned his head and looked at him curiously for a moment, the smile on his face hardening ever so slightly before he turned to look back out at the yard again.

  
“I’m sure you gentlemen have stacks of paperwork detailing my past,” he said as he walked up the stairs back to the patio again and towards the mansion. “And if you look through it, you will find information detailing my family – or rather, my lack thereof. As was the case for many others, my parents… well, they didn’t survive the war.” Chris seemed to a take a moment, then turned to face Tony and Ron. “There aren’t many people I can trust – having money can do strange things to relationships and I have learned to be very selective when it comes to the people I let into my inner circle. However, Benson is one of the few whom I trust implicitly and I’m confident that as you stay here, you will find him to be an asset to you both as well.”

  
Chris smiled brightly again and led them back into the house. Ron tried to catch Tony’s eye as they walked, hoping to gauge the senior Auror’s reaction to Chris’ decidedly firm convictions. However, as they headed back into the drawing room, Ron sensed that the chance to compare notes would have to wait.

  
“I appreciate you both humoring me with the tour,” Chris said as he walked over to one of the high backed chairs and sat down. “I know you must be itching to get down to the nitty gritty of my case. But what can I say? My business dealings have taught me that often times, being a good host is just as important, if not more so, than anything else I do. However, now that you’ve done things my way, I daresay it would only be fair that I do you the same courtesy.”

  
Tony and Ron took up seats on the adjacent sofa facing Chris. But almost as soon as they had settled into their seats, there was a knock on the door as Benson entered the room and gave another deep bow.

  
“Sir?”

  
Chris cast a sideways glance at the grandfather clock standing against the wall. “Oh dear. Back already?” He smiled and shook his head quickly. “Ah well, of course. It’s my own fault for not paying closer attention to the time. But this works out perfectly – and that certainly isn’t a surprise, now is it, Benson?”

  
“Not at all, sir!”

  
Chris laughed brightly while Ron and Tony exchanged bewildered looks. “If you two would excuse me for just a moment, I'll be right back.” And with a slight skip in his step, he swept out of the room, Benson following closely and closing the door shut behind them, leaving Ron and Tony alone in the room once again.

  
Ron let out a long, low breath. “ _Wow_...”

  
"You're telling me," Tony replied, shaking his head.

  
“D’you think he ever slows down?” Ron asked. “Or stops talking? And is he always so… so –”

  
“Cheery?”

  
“Sure,” Ron said slowly, his eyes narrowed. “Let’s go with _cheery_.”

  
Tony guffawed. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” He looked around the room again. “I do wonder, though - how did he get all this, and so young? I've been an Auror for almost 20 years and I still ask myself if I would be better off taking another job at the Ministry. At least then I'd be able to see my wife and kids more often.”

  
“What do we know about his past?” Ron asked. “Could it have come from his parents? Maybe he inherited the money after they passed?”

  
Tony raised a bushy eyebrow playfully. “I thought you were supposed to be the Christopher Rhiney expert?”

  
Ron felt his ears grow hot. “I’m just saying there has to be more to the story than running a successful shipping business, right? How does someone who’s barely thirty become so well off so quickly? And how did he become best mates with an international Quidditch star, or end up on the gift exchange lists of people like the Weird Sisters or the editor of the Daily Prophet?”

  
Tony shook his head. “I’m not sure. But whatever his secret is, I wouldn’t mind knowing. I could use the extra galleons.”

  
As Tony stood and began to walk around the space, Ron continued to turn things over in his brain. The manor was so massive and luxurious, it made him slightly uncomfortable. He'd never seen so much tangible wealth before, and now he, Ron Weasley, was going to be staying here? It was surreal. But how did Rhiney get all of it? And why, if he were being threatened, was he so eager to show it off? Especially after talking about how difficult it was to find trustworthy people. It didn’t seem to add up.

  
Feeling suddenly restless, Ron stood and walked over to the bookshelves, scanning the titles aimlessly. Most, he noticed, looked brand new and like they had never been opened before – almost as though they had been purchased with the distinct purpose of filling up the many shelves for show and not actually to be read. However, as he glanced over the numerous spines, he came across one rather tired-looking book in particular and furrowing his brow, he pulled it off of the shelf and opened it to the first page. With a jolt, he gawked at the title of the book as the looping black print stared unflinchingly back up at him.

  
In his hands sat a much worn and well-read copy of _Hogwarts, A History_.

  
Without thinking, Ron started to leaf through the book, his pulse quickening as a sense of foreboding settled into his chest. He skimmed the pages quickly, his eyes darting across the margins as he searched for a hint of the perfectly tidy penmanship he had all but memorized back in what felt like a past life. As he flipped through the pages, he felt something brush against his leg and recoiled slightly. Hastily shoving the book back on the shelf, he looked down to see what had just rubbed up against him and saw two yellow orbs staring up at him from a squashed, ginger face. Ron locked eyes with the bandy-legged tabby, and the cat meowed loudly, causing Ron to stagger backwards.

  
Ron felt his stomach drop and his breath catch in his throat. Despite his better judgment, he said weakly, " _Crookshanks_?"

  
The cat meowed even louder than before, and Ron stumbled backwards again, this time knocking a few books from off the bookshelf. As he scrambled to put them back, Tony looked over at him curiously.

  
"Ron, what—"

  
But before he could finish, there was a quick knock on the double doors and Chris came striding back in.

  
“Gentlemen! Please forgive me for the interruption before, but there's someone I'd like for you to meet.” He stopped at the back of the sofa and looked from Ron to Tony. “The Minister never told you about this, but that is entirely my fault. You see, there was a fire last week and, well, everything happened so quickly, I completely forgot to mention it." He smiled warmly. “I suppose what I mean to say is there has been a slight change to the details of your job here.”

  
“A… change?” Tony asked apprehensively. Ron felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest and attempted to take a steadying breath in.

  
Chris nodded. “Yes. You see, her flat burned down, and I was so worried about her, I asked her to move in with me until the investigation has wrapped up and it’s safe for her to go back.”

  
“Her?” Ron choked. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry and it felt as though a rock had lodged in his throat.

  
“Yes! My girlfriend.” Chris smiled brightly again, letting every single one of his teeth show. When both Tony and Ron continued to stare blankly at him, his smiled faltered, and for the first time all morning, he frowned slightly. “I hope that this won't be a problem. She's a lovely girl, really. Wildly talented – truly the smartest witch you'll ever meet. Oh, what am I saying? Let me introduce her to you!” He rushed out of the room and when he returned, Ron felt all the blood leave his body.

  
There, standing in the doorway was the last person he ever thought he would see again.

  
“Anthony Mariano. Ronald Weasley. I would like you to meet my girlfriend, Hermione Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter and please don't forget to review!


	3. Shame and Fortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the somewhat long break between chapters. Real life has been nuts and I was a bit of a perfectionist about this chapter. Anyway, all I'll say is I do love me a good Ron/Hermione fight... and I hope you do, too. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

Ron was frozen. Time had stopped and he suddenly found himself unable to breathe because all the air had been knocked out of him. An odd buzzing sound now filled his ears and everything around him seemingly disappeared except for her, as she stood right in front of him.

  
Hermione Granger: his former best friend, ex-girlfriend, and possible love of his life.

  
As she walked into the room, smiling brightly, he stared, stunned, and rendered temporarily mute and dumb by her presence and the distant knowledge that he had desperately missed looking at her. How was it that she could look exactly as he remembered while simultaneously completely different? She seemed older and more mature, yet as she smiled, her face still lit up in the same, girlish way from when they were young. Her bushy hair somehow looked softer to the touch and far better tamed, as well as shorter than what he remembered, though he supposed after three years that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. Cheeks still pink from the wind outside, the color only seemed to make her skin glow, and her lips were painted a soft, rosy shade, while her eyes–

 _  
Merlin_ , _those eyes…_

  
Ron had long come to accept the fact that he would most likely never get the chance to look into her dark, brown eyes again. But somehow, against all luck and logic, she was here and she was as real as anything he had ever seen in his life. Wearing a smart, silky white blouse and a dark blue, knee-length skirt, she sidled up to Chris who looped an arm around her back and pulled her close. Standing there, they were a perfectly put together duo with their polite smiles, posh clothing, and surrounded by their giant, magnificent manor. But as Ron watched Hermione stick her hand out towards Tony, a painful knot pulled at the bottom of his stomach and he gritted his teeth.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” she said, still smiling brightly and for one wild moment, Ron genuinely wondered if she hadn’t seen him. However, as she shook Tony’s hand she glanced in his direction and Ron watched as a shadow drew across her face and a small frown met her brow. But almost as soon as it appeared, it was gone again.  
  
  
“It's very nice to meet you, Ms. Granger,” Tony said politely.

  
“Oh, please, call me Hermione. Ms. Granger makes me feel like my mum.”

Ron continued to stare in disbelief as she laughed airily, but now he could feel something else building inside him – something familiar and oddly comforting, if long dormant. Why was he the only one who could barely seem to contain himself while she was totally unruffled? How could she _ignore_ him so easily and act as though nothing was wrong? And why did she get to be poised and polished and bloody perfect while he looked like a moronic sideshow act?

  
Suddenly, and irrationally, Ron felt a surge of fury shoot through him.

  
“Speaking of your mum, how is she? Did you have a successful shopping trip?” Chris asked, showing Hermione into one of the high-backed chairs and signaling something to Benson who hurried noiselessly out of the room.

“She’s fine and we had a lovely time. There’s still a lot left on my list, but it was nice to be out with her.”

“Hermione's parents are Muggles,” Chris explained as he sat in the chair next to her, still staring at her. “They spent the morning together, working on finding some new items to replace those that were lost in the fire.”

“Which would explain the Muggle clothing,” Tony said as he walked over to the sofa and sat down. Ron followed suit, his movements slightly stilted and unnatural, as he sat directly across from Hermione.

  
Hermione smiled again. “It's not that my parents aren't used to Wizard robes by now, but I have a feeling the rest of London would have found them to be a bit odd.” She looked over at Chris. “And how about you? Where you able to explain the change in your situation…?”

  
Chris sighed. “My day’s been as was to be expected, love.” Ron’s blood boiled at the term of endearment, and he hastily covered a disdainful snort with a cough. “My meeting this morning took longer than planned and then I got a bit carried away showing Anthony and Ronald around the manor. I was actually just about to explain to them the circumstances surrounding your flat.” Chris took her hand into his and stroked it with his thumb. Ron gripped the sofa, his knuckles turning opaque.

  
The doors to the sitting room rattled open from behind them and Benson re-entered carrying a silver tray with a tea set, plates, and a platter full of sandwiches.

  
“Thank you, Benson,” Chris said as the old man bowed deeply and exited the room. “I know you all must be hungry. Please, eat.” He gestured to the food in front of them and then grabbed a plate himself. “Tea?” he asked Hermione, who nodded.

  
Tony reached for a sandwich, but when he offered one to Ron, Ron shook his head no. Although his stomach growled in protest, he felt his hunger ebb away as he watched Chris hand Hermione a teacup, his hand lingering on top of hers slightly longer than seemed necessary.

  
“So, what happened to your flat?” Tony asked. “Chris mentioned something about a fire.”

  
Hermione nodded, placing her cup down on the coffee table in front of her. “I live in a Muggle owned building in London and about a week ago, a fire burned down most of the unit. It was quite scary – most of the tenants, including myself, were inside our flats when it happened. One minute, I was in my room reading and then the next, I smelled smoke and heard people shouting. It all happened rather quickly – I had just enough time to grab my cat and a few small, personal effects and get out.”

  
“That explains the book...” Ron muttered.  
  
  
All heads turned in his direction, somewhat taken aback by this sudden comment. Hermione looked confused and for the first time since arriving, addressed him directly. “What do you mean?”

  
Ron felt his ears burn, and tried to shrug. “I noticed an old copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ on one of the shelves earlier.”

  
“But how could you have possibly known it wasn't Chris' book?” Hermione said innocently, but Ron could practically see her gaze sharpen.

  
“I—er,” he scrambled. “When I opened it, I thought I saw…er, feminine handwriting inside, is all.”

  
“The whole ordeal sounds awful all the same,” Tony interjected, turning back to Hermione. “Any word on what may have caused the fire?”

  
Hermione tore her piercing gaze away from Ron and turned back towards Tony. “The Muggle fire services are still conducting an investigation, but they believe it was due to faulty electrical wiring. The building is old and while the property managers have done a fairly good job at maintaining it, it’s highly likely it was caused by something as simple and mundane as that.”

  
“And what about the Ministry? What has their investigation shown so far?” Tony asked as he took a sip of tea.

  
“Well, nothing yet,” Hermione said and Ron watched as she nervously folded her hands in her lap. “As I said, with the building being older and Muggle built and owned, and not to mention the fact that I’m quite certain I’m the only witch or wizard who’s living there, the chances of it being magic-related are slim. Also,” Hermione’s eyes darted surreptitiously towards Chris, “not many people know of my connection to Chris, so it’s not something that’s triggered any further investigating. Really, there hasn’t been a need for the Ministry to get involved.”

  
“Honestly, Hermione, the fact of the matter is the Ministry, and you, have yet to take what happened seriously. You could have been hurt!” Chris shook his head in disgust and although he hated himself for it, Ron found himself secretly agreeing. “I know I won't feel better until I know what caused the fire, and until then, having you close by feels more important than ever.” Chris placed a hand atop Hermione’s as they sat in her lap, and she gave him a thin smile in return. Ron clenched his jaw as he watched.

  
Tony nodded. “This is all good information to have, and I appreciate you telling us. Once we’re a bit more settled in, I think it would be best if Ron and I sit down with you and go over some of the other particulars of that evening and the days leading up to the fire.”

  
“Is that really necessary?” Hermione asked, her voice slightly higher as her cheeks flushed. “I don’t want to be a bother or a distraction to your case, especially since you’re both here to offer your support and services to Chris and what’s been going on with his business, not to try and determine the cause of a fire at the block of flats I happen to live in–”

  
“You can’t seriously be surprised you’ve made yourself a target by being close to him, can you?” Ron scoffed, trying to keep his voice steady, as his heart beat erratically in his chest. “He’s been getting threatening letters for months, not to mention he’s one of the most visible and well-off businessmen in Europe. How could you _not_ see a connection?”

  
Ron locked eyes with Hermione and watched as she pursed her lips and narrowed her gaze. A small thrill sparked inside him and he stared defiantly back. Chris and Tony, however, seemed completely unaware of the silent standoff occurring and continued on.

  
“I agree with Ronald,” Chris said, giving Hermione’s hand a quick squeeze before turning back to Tony. “I’ve been saying the same thing all week – that the timing is too coincidental and she needs to be smart about this, but she’s been quite resistant to the idea. But as I said before, all the more reason for her to be here, especially now that you two will be living at the manor.”

  
Hermione wrenched her eyes away from Ron, her icy gaze now fixed on Chris and she opened her mouth to respond, however, it was Tony who spoke next.

  
“No detail is too small when it comes to helping with our investigation of the threats being made against you, Mr. Rhiney.” He stood up. “However, while it’s been very nice meeting you both if you would please excuse me, I need to get in contact with the Ministry right away to let them know of the changes to our plans.”

  
“I'm not causing any problems, am I?” Hermione asked.

  
Tony shook his head. “Not at all. Just standard protocol.”

  
She smiled wanly. “I'm sure Chris has already let you know how grateful he is to the Ministry for doing this, but please know how thankful I am as well. It means a lot that you’re willing to come here and help and I have every reason to believe that you two and the Ministry will catch the men and women who are doing this.”

  
“That's our job, ma'am,” Tony bowed his head momentarily, then headed out the doors towards the rest of the house.

  
From the corner of the room, the grandfather clock chimed loudly, and Chris almost immediately jumped out of his chair. “Ah! It appears as if I’ve completely lost track of time again. I must steal away for another meeting, although my hope is this one will be much shorter than the one this morning. Ronald, if you or Anthony have any questions about the protections we have set up, Benson will be your best asset. Otherwise, I am happy to speak with you two later this evening.”

  
“You have another meeting? Now?” Hermione’s eyes were wide as the pitch of her voice went up another octave. “Are you sure you can’t push it?”

  
Chris patted her hand and shook his head. “You know I can’t but, as I said, it shouldn’t take too long. Go ahead and finish eating and I’ll check in with you later.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead, then turned on his heel and swept out of the room, leaving Ron and Hermione alone together.

  
The ringing silence that followed was deafening. Seconds seemed to expand into infinity and the only sound was that of the quiet, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock. Ron sat glued to the sofa, the palms of his hands sweating and his blood pulsing through his veins. While Hermione seemed content to stare out the window and act as if nothing was wrong, Ron could feel the simmering anger he had been pushing down begin to boil over.

  
“So...” he finally said after what seemed like an eternity. “ _So_...”

  
Hermione finally turned and gave him a distasteful look. “So what?”

  
“Oh, come off it,” Ron spat as he rolled his eyes.

  
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest as she began jiggling her foot. “I don't believe I know what you're referring to.”

  
“For Merlin's sake, Hermione, you know damn well what I'm talking about!” he exploded, as his heart hammered inside his chest.

  
Hermione’s eyes flashed dangerously. “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you I’m thrilled to see you? Or lie and say this isn’t _literally_ my worst nightmare come true?”

  
Ron cringed but continued on angrily. “Really, Hermione? That’s what I am for you? _Your_ _worst nightmare_?”

  
“Oh, does that hurt your feelings? Here, allow me to start over.” Hermione put on a fake cheery tone, her foot still jiggling relentlessly. “Hello, Ron! It's _so_ nice to see you! Goodness, it's been _ages_!” She tapped a finger to her chin. “I believe the last time we saw each other, we got into a massive row and you left me utterly gutted in your parents’ backyard, but let’s not think about that and we’ll just act as though we're best friends again!” She rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, _there's_ a brilliant idea.”

  
Ron’s pulse thundered in his ears. “So your plan is to what? Ignore me? Pretend you have no bloody clue who I am? How long do you think you can keep that up for?”

  
“And what, pray tell, would you suggest?” she snapped.

  
“You could at least acknowledge my presence! It's not like I planned for this to happen!” Ron watched Hermione’s eyes grow wide with indignation.

“And what about _me_?” she said as she pointed a finger at her chest. “Do you think I imagined for even one second you would be here?”

  
“Well, join the club, because I damn well had no idea you’d be here either! Or did you not see the stupid look on my face when you walked in?”

  
“I suppose I couldn’t see a difference between how you looked when I walked in and how you always look,” she said coldly.

  
Ron swallowed painfully and gave a derisive snort. “Nice, Hermione. Real nice. Tell me, does it ever get lonely up there on your pedestal, looking down on all the rest of us? Or have you just gotten used to it? I’d imagine it’s easier now, especially since you’ve started spending all your free time cozying up to the likes of Christopher bloody Rhiney!”

  
Hermione growled. “You are such a– a–”

  
“A what?”

  
“ _A_ _child_!”

  
“Yeah? Well, I’d rather be a child than a snob!”

  
“My God, you are absolutely unbearable!” she cried.

  
“And you think you’re a bloody picnic right now?” he snapped.

  
“FINE!” she shouted as she threw her hands up in the air, her foot still jiggling mercilessly. “You win, Ron! I’m insufferable and a snob and this whole situation is clearly worse for you than it is for me! Is that what you want? _Are you happy now_?”

  
Ron gripped the edge of the sofa painfully and his face flushed with anger. He grunted and turned to look out one of the giant windows, his brain unable to muster up a response. Hermione shook her head as she scowled at him.

  
“At least tell me this, since you seem to care so much: how would you have me explain this lovely little situation to Chris?” Ron’s stomach lurched at the sound of the businessman’s name coming from her mouth and he whipped his head back towards her. “Well? I mean you must have some idea since you seem to have such strong feelings on the matter! Should I wait until we’re all at dinner tonight and bring it up to him then?”

  
For a fleeting moment, Ron thought of trying to stop her – to apologize and attempt to reach some sort of ceasefire, even if it was temporary. But as words continued to tumble from her perfectly painted mouth, Ron felt his anger grow from a white-hot ember to a dark, menacing blaze.

  
“Or, better yet, maybe I’ll wait until Chris and I are in bed, and I can whisper in his ear, ‘You know that young, ginger-haired Auror staying down the hall from us? Well, he’s actually _the_ Ronald Weasley who helped Harry and me defeat Voldemort. Oh, and by the way, we used to date, so I hope that doesn’t bother you!’”

  
Every word she spoke rained down on him like a punch and Ron shook with barely suppressed rage as he clenched his fists tightly.

  
“You don't need to be so bloody sarcastic!”

  
“Oh, _I’m_ sarcastic?” she screeched. “When every single word out of your mouth is dripping in contempt? Honestly, you have some nerve coming here and blowing up at me!” She gripped the arms of her chair, her face red with fury. Closing her eyes briefly, she took a long, steadying breath. “Obviously this is an awful situation, but there isn't a lot we can do to change it unless you quit or I move out. And since neither of those are practical or realistic options, and you can't seem to come up with any better ideas as to how we should handle this, I’m going to continue on with my current course of action and yes, act like I don't know you!”

  
They sat there for a few minutes, silently seething and breathing heavily. Ron was so angry, he felt light headed. He knew that even if he wanted to, there was no way he could go back to the Ministry and tell Kingsley he couldn’t be on the case just because of the history between Hermione and himself. And regardless of the fact that it made his blood boil and his stomach churn painfully to think about, he knew there was no chance Hermione was going to leave either.

  
None of this, of course, made him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel worse.

  
Hermione was still jiggling her foot rapidly, an old nervous habit of hers he recognized from when they were in school. But now, as she sat across from him, her hair crackling with electricity and her eyes filled with loathing, Ron realized that this was not the same Hermione he had known from his youth. This Hermione was different; she was angry, yes, and certainly angrier than he had seen her in a long time. But more than that, she was unkind and defensive and clearly unafraid to let him know just what she thought of him. The fiery resentment residing inside Ron’s chest hissed and popped as he glared back at her.

  
“You know what, Hermione? You're right.”

  
She stared at him distrustfully. “What?”

  
He leaned back into the sofa and rested his arms across the top of it. “I said you're right. Why should we act like we know one another when it's obvious we don’t?” Hermione’s expression faltered, and he pressed on. “You see, the Ron Weasley you knew from Hogwarts isn’t the same Ron Weasley sitting in front of you today. And you? Well, the Hermione Granger I knew would never have thought of shacking up with a man just because he's well off. But clearly, that doesn't bother _you_ one bit.”

  
Ron watched as her jaw dropped. “You–you–” she spluttered.

  
“Don't act so offended, _love,”_ he said mockingly. “You know damn well how this looks.”

  
Hermione swallowed hard as the color drained from her face and sat quietly for a moment. However, when she spoke again, her voice was trembling with rage and emotion.

  
“How _dare_ you! I have _every right_ to be angry. But _you_?” She shook her head indignantly. “You’re just a bitter, jealous, lonely little man who's clearly unhappy and unfulfilled with your own life. And now that you’re being forced to watch as I move on with someone else – someone _better_ than you – you can't handle it because it makes you feel so pathetic and inferior, your head spins! But you know what, Ron? Just because you’re miserable doesn’t mean I have to be as well. You may be sad and nasty and lonely but guess what? _I don't care!_ ”

  
Hermione stood up from her chair and towered over Ron, whose mouth now hung slightly open as his arms slipped off the top of the sofa. She pointed a shaking finger at his chest.

  
“You did this, Ronald Weasley! You put all of this into motion three years ago and I'll be damned if I let you lash out at me or somehow blame me for your own shortcomings or the position we find ourselves in now. So, kindly? _SOD OFF!_ "

  
She stared at him a moment, her eyes glossy but with a hint of triumph behind them. Then, with her head held high, she whipped around and marched out of the room, slamming the doors behind her and leaving Ron thunderstruck.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Ron stomped upstairs to his room, trying not to slam the door behind him before throwing himself onto the bed. He began punching the oversized pillows over and over again until they started to release tiny clouds of soft, white feathers and when he was finally exhausted, he watched as they floated lazily around him and landed noiselessly on the bed. With a groan, he rubbed his face roughly as he tried to scrub her words from his brain. Was Hermione right about him? His chest ached as if in response and he felt himself sag with regret, his insides burning with guilt and his head throbbing miserably.

  
His stomach growled painfully and with another groan, Ron dragged himself up off the bed and over to his rucksack, fishing through it in search of something to eat. Pulling out an assortment of jeans and shirts, a particularly worn pair of balled up socks, and a set of dark blue dress robes, his hand found the corner of a box that distinctly felt like it belonged to a chocolate frog. As he grasped it, his fingers brushed against a small, metal tube the size of a cigarette lighter and suddenly, all thoughts of chocolate frogs and hunger pangs left his brain.

  
Sitting back on the floor and drawing his knees up to his chest, he slowly pulled the Deluminator out from the bottom of his bag. Rolling it between his fingers, he clicked it open and watched as light from around the room whooshed through the air and collected inside it, creating a flame-like point. Ron closed his eyes, letting the darkness envelop him and in an instant, he was transported back to early Christmas morning at Shell Cottage years before. He could feel the tiny ball of blue light enter his chest, warm and soft, and it filled him with a sense of purpose. He was going to find them. He was going to find her.

  
To this day, Ron still wasn’t completely sure of how it worked, or why. But the fact that it had been her voice he’d heard that morning – that she was the reason he could get back to them – had never been a surprise. She’d always had that power over him, whether she realized it or not. And he knew that no matter how much time passed, and no matter what happened between them, he would still do anything for her.

  
Ron clicked the Deluminator again and released the light back into the room. Standing gingerly, he noticed a small pouch of silvery powder sitting on a bookshelf nearby and felt like a light went off over his head. Grabbing a pinch from the bag, he flung it into the fireplace and watched as bright, green flames erupted instantaneously. Kneeling back down again, he took a deep breath, stuck his head inside, and said in a clear, firm voice, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

  
His body was still firmly planted on the floor in Rhiney Manor, but when Ron opened his eyes, he could see the fire swirling around his face and almost as quickly as it had started, it stopped again showing the kitchen to Harry's home.

  
“Harry! Harry, are you there?” Ron called out, but the room was silent. He turned his face to the side, attempting to crane his neck as he tried to look around. “OI! HARRY POTTER! GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE!”

  
There was the sound of rapid footsteps and Ron watched as Harry came skidding into the kitchen, a piece of parchment crumpled in his hand, and a bewildered look on his face as he scanned the room.

  
“Ron…?”

  
“Down here, you git!” Ron laughed. Harry glanced down at the fireplace and smiled warmly as he saw his best friend’s head floating in the grate.

  
“Is everything okay? You were shouting like a madman,” Harry said as he pulled a chair over and sat down. “How was it meeting the famous Christopher Rhiney? Is he everything you dreamed he’d be?"

  
A flicker of anger rose up in his chest again, and Ron scowled. “He’s like if Lockhart and Slughorn had a baby, and then that baby grew up to be a giant wanker,” Ron said darkly and Harry sniggered. “He’s obnoxiously well off and knows it, he loves to brag about himself and all the famous people he’s friends with, and he’s disturbingly overly-cheerful. Seriously – he didn’t stop smiling or shut up about himself for almost two hours. Until…”

  
“Until what?” Harry frowned.

  
“Until…” Ron sighed. “Until Hermione showed up.”

  
Harry stared at Ron, dumbstruck. “Wait. What?”

  
“Hermione. She’s here.”

  
“Hang on – what the hell is Hermione doing at Christopher Rhiney’s place?”

  
“ _She_ _lives here_ _with him,_ ” Ron said slowly, his heart rate ticking upwards.

  
Harry gaped and placed the parchment he was holding down on the table. “Wow. I…wow.”

  
Ron was quiet a moment. “You really didn’t know?”

  
“Know what?”

  
“About Rhiney and–”

  
“Of course not,” Harry cut him off definitively. “Do you really think I’d have let you walk out of the Ministry without so much as a warning? Or that I wouldn’t have immediately sent Hermione an owl, giving her a head’s up? I didn’t even know she was dating someone, let alone that she’d moved in with him.”

  
“Well, apparently the living together part is new. There was a fire in her building in London last week so she's moved in with him until the unit’s repaired.”

  
“A fire? You’re joking!” Harry’s eyes were wide. “Is she all right?”

  
“She’s fine. If anything, she seemed to want to avoid talking about it altogether," Ron replied. “It was weird, how nonchalant she was about it. But the Muggles aren’t sure what caused it and the Ministry hasn’t gotten involved yet, so Tony went to let Gemma and Kingsley know right after we heard.”

  
Harry let out a low breath. “So, have you talked to her yet?”

  
“Not exactly…” Ron looked away as he trailed off, his mind flooding with images of the scene from earlier, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him.

  
Harry looked at Ron warily. “Please tell me you didn’t have a row with her in front of everyone.”

  
“Not in front of everyone,” Ron muttered as his ears burned. “Tony left to send word to Kingsley, and then Rhiney had to step into some meeting or whatever, so it was just Hermione and me. And I —well, I got angry.” Harry stared at him skeptically and Ron looked down sheepishly. “Look, I flew off the handle and took it out on her. I know it was stupid, but it happened.”

  
Harry frowned. “What did you say?”

  
“Er –” he started uncomfortably, “In short order, I called her a snob, told her she’d changed for the worse, and then accused her of dating Rhiney for his money."

  
Harry stared with his mouth wide open. “I can’t believe you’re still _alive_ , let alone Flooing me right now. I’m guessing she didn’t take that well?”

  
“She told me off so soundly, you’d think she’d practiced it. Actually,” Ron added, “now that I think about it, she probably did. Anyway, she told me I was bitter and unhappy with my own life and that seeing her with Rhiney just reminded me of how pathetic I am. Then she told me this was all my fault. Oh, and then she told me to sod off."

  
Harry’s eyes looked as though they might pop out of his head. “Merlin, she must have been apoplectic.”

  
“Yeah, well, like I said, it…got out of hand,” Ron finished lamely. “That was the end of it, though. She stormed out and I haven’t seen her since.”

  
They sat quietly for a moment, and Harry hesitated before asking, “So, what are you going to do? Do you think Tony or Rhiney have any idea about the two of you?”

  
“I don’t think so, though Tony might suspect something’s up if he’s talked to Kingsley. But there are enough Weasley’s in the world that it’s possible Rhiney doesn’t realize yet that I’m the one who’s friends with you. But honestly, mate, I have no idea what’s going to happen now. Kingsley might decide I can’t work on this case because of my history with Hermione, and even if he gives me a chance…” he trailed off miserably.

  
“Do you even want to?” Harry asked. “Work on the case, that is?”

  
Ron sighed. “I mean, it’s not ideal, having to basically work as security for some rich pillock, but this is a huge case. But, now that I know Hermione’s involved and possibly in danger because of some arsehole she’s seeing, I just…” Ron shook his head. “I can’t leave. Not now. It’s… she’s…”

  
“She’s Hermione,” Harry said quietly and Ron nodded slowly as he swallowed past the small lump in his throat. “Then I think you tell Kingsley that. Maybe not the bit about you and Hermione, but the part about how the case is too important to walk away from. He knows what you’re capable of and if you say you can do this, then you can. Just, you know, maybe try and avoid having a go at Hermione again.” Harry’s voice hardened slightly as he continued. “She has a point, you know. It _is_ sort of your fault you’re in this situation, and you can’t get mad at her for moving on.”

  
Ron insides burned with shame. “I know, I know. I just…” he tried to continue, but words escaped him. “I know I’m the one who ended it with her, but I can’t pretend I’m fine with sitting back and watching her with this wanker. It was bloody awful today, and that was for less than an hour.”

  
“Yeah, you were always rubbish at keeping your anger in check when it came to Hermione and other blokes. But you have a job to do and that’s what you should focus on. Concentrate on working with Tony to figure out who’s making these threats towards Rhiney. Maybe we’ll get this thing solved quickly and then you can move on, too.”

  
“Right...” Ron said miserably.

  
Harry considered Ron carefully for a moment. “Ron, I know we’ve haven’t talked much about what happened between you and Hermione. But I also know you and… well, I know you regret ending things with her. And yes,” he continued as Ron looked up at him, wide-eyed, “I know that even though you’ve never admitted it. But the thing is, Hermione’s the closest thing I have to a sister and even though you two had a falling out, she and I are still close and she and Ginny are close, too, and –” Harry struggled for a moment, then pressed on. “Look, all I’m saying is if you think you still have feelings for her, then maybe you should consider telling her. If not for her sake, then for your own.”

  
Ron snorted. “Harry, mate, you didn’t see her today. The way she looked at me and the things she said… she _hates_ me. I mean, actually, deeply hates me. She said my being here was her worst nightmare.”

  
Harry smirked. “Ron, if there's one thing I know about women—”

  
“Oh, really, Mr. Most Eligible Bachelor runner-up?”

  
“Do you want my help or not?” Ron stifled a laugh and nodded. “Clearly, this isn’t my field of expertise, but I know Hermione and I know you and all I’m saying is maybe she got as angry as she did with you because there’s something else there. And yeah, Christopher Rhiney’s rich and charming or whatever, but that doesn't mean that he’s ‘the one.’ I mean, she loved you once, didn't she?"

  
“Yeah,” Ron said sadly. “Yeah, she did.”

  
“Then maybe there’s a chance she never stopped.”

  
Ron glanced up at Harry and saw a small smirk on his face. “So, you’re telling me you actually believe there’s a chance she still cares about me and that she doesn’t want to pour undiluted Bubotuber pus down my pants?”

  
“Did she say that to you?” Harry asked, horrified.

  
“No, I just feel like she might not be against it.”

  
“Well, strangely enough, I think her blowing up at you kind of proves that she still feels something. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have really reacted at all. But after what you said to her today, and considering your history together, I reckon you're going to have a hell of a time getting her to admit it.” Harry sighed and shook his head. “Ron, just be _nice_ to her. It’s going to be awkward, especially after what happened this morning, but if you apologize and mean it, then you'll at least have gained some ground with her and right now, that might be the most you can hope for."

  
Ron gave a half smile. “I’m a fucking mess.”

  
“Careful – that’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

  
“Ah, don’t go all soft on me now, Potter!”

  
As they laughed, there was a knock at Harry’s front door. “Damn. That’s probably Sean. I’d better go.”

  
“Thanks for listening to me whinge.”

  
“It’s the least I can do,” Harry said with a grin. “Ron, seriously mate, just keep your cool and at least think about apologizing. Then go from there."

  
“All right, all right! Tell Sean I say hi.” And with a small _pop!_ Ron pulled his head out of the fireplace.

  
Sitting on the floor again, Ron stared ahead at the empty grate as Harry’s advice rolled around his brain. There was no easy or quick way to fix things between him and Hermione – that he knew for sure. And while Harry seemed confident that Hermione still cared for him, Ron couldn’t quite forget the venom with which she had flung her insults at him earlier. Still, apologizing, or at least trying to, definitely couldn’t make things any worse than they already were. And just as he always had, Ron knew that when it came to Hermione, he would do whatever he needed to in order to keep her safe.

  
Ron glanced down at the Deluminator in his hand and with a small grimace, he pocketed it. Then, standing up, he gathered all his courage and walked out the door.


	4. Midnight Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick things...  
> 1) Sorry for the long wait between chapters.  
> 2) This is why I probably need a beta.  
> 3) Things get a little PG-13 here, so just a head's up (yes, the story is rated M and it'll get there eventually, but I wanted to give everyone fair warning here)  
> 4) Thank you to all who are reading, reviewing, leaving kudos, and being lovely and supportive. It literally makes my entire life.  
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

As Ron stepped out into the corridor, he saw Tony rapidly walking towards him holding a large purple folder.  
  
  
“There you are. I checked in with the Ministry and I want to go over some of the details of our mission now that we’re here. You settled in yet?”

  
“Oh, er– ” Ron glanced down the hall towards the master bedroom, and with a small frown nodded. “Yeah. Now’s good.” 

  
He followed Tony downstairs and back into the sitting room. As they walked in, Tony closed the doors behind them, then turned to Ron quickly, his wiry brows furrowed and his jaw set.

  
“Before we get started, I need to know right now if there’s going to be a problem with you working on this case.”

  
Ron’s stomach dropped to his feet.

  
“Wh-what? Of course not. I’m completely dedicated to it.”

  
Tony’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier while we were all in here, but I know about your history with Ms. Granger. You two are quite famous for helping Harry stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and while he didn’t let on that he knew, I would imagine it’s only a matter of time before Christopher Rhiney figures out who you are, too, if he isn’t already aware.” Tony crossed his burly arms over his chest, tucking the folder under one arm. “Look, I like you, Weasley. I think you’re a good Auror with remarkably spot-on instincts and a lot of potential. But if what the Minister just told me is true, and you and Ms. Granger haven’t been on good terms since the end of the war, then I need you to be honest about whether you can be objective.”

  
Ron swallowed hard as sweat sprung up at his temples. “I promise there won’t be an issue. I don’t know how much Kingsley told you, but, well, yeah, Hermione and I sort of… fell out a while back and I haven’t seen her in about three years until today. But I swear to you it’s not going to affect my work. I want to do whatever I can to help with this investigation.”

  
He looked at Tony with what he hoped was the sincerest look he could muster. Tony stared at him carefully for a moment longer, but as Ron’s answer seemed to satisfy his concerns for now, his expression softened.

  
“All right,” he growled. “But I’m serious, Weasley, if there’s even a hint of an issue at all between you and her–”

  
“There won’t be.”

  
“–then I’ll have no choice but to let the Minister know immediately so we can figure out new arrangements. Understood?”

  
Ron nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

  
“Good. Now, we need to discuss some of the finer points on how we want to handle our work here.” Tony strode over to the sofa and took a seat, opening the folder on the coffee table in front of him. “Discovering there are now two people we need to protect isn’t really an issue, it’ll just take some extra coordinating on our part. But learning there was a fire only a week ago at Ms. Granger’s flat is, at best, alarming.”

  
“Especially when you consider the uptick in I.W.P. activity and the threats Rhiney’s been getting,” Ron said darkly as he plopped down in one of the chairs across from Tony. “Any chance we can have a unit from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes go down to her building to run tests? If it was started by magic, maybe there are traces of the spell left.”

  
“I’m glad to see you and I are on the same page,” Tony said as he flipped through a few pages in the folder and produced a grey quill from the inside pocket of his robes. “I’ve already put in a request for a team go check it out. Next, we’ll want to coordinate with McLean and Potter so they can be looped in. And it’s probably best if we take a statement from Ms. Granger in the next few days as well.”

  
“D’you think we can get a record of who lives in her building?” Ron asked as he watched Tony scribble something on one of the forms in front of him. “I know Hermione said she’s the only magical person living there, but I still think we ought to confirm that ourselves. It could help rule out any outlying causes to the fire if needed.”

  
Tony nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll have Gemma request a registry of who’s been living there from the property management group, as well as have someone follow up with the Muggle fire services since they’ve been doing their own investigation and may have evidence that can help us.”

  
“Won’t that get a bit tricky, trying to suss out information from the Muggles without raising any red flags?”

  
“We’ll have a few Aurors go undercover to try and get the information organically. Whenever Muggles are involved, the less magic used, the better.” Tony sighed as he stroked his salt and pepper goatee. “It may very well be the fire was merely a coincidence. But in the meantime, it’s for the best that Ms. Granger’s here.”

  
Ron’s stomach twisted, but he nodded in agreement. “By the way, Rhiney said we could speak with his head of staff, Benson, about the protective enchantments being used, so we should probably try and meet with him this afternoon. We can take note of who’s working here at the manor and what their shifts are.”

  
“Good. We’ll want to see what gaps there may be in their security, as well as interview everyone on staff. After that, we can focus on meeting with Rhiney and going over how he’s been conducting business recently and with whom.”

  
“Something tells me he won’t mind talking about his work,” Ron scoffed as he bit back a smile. “Though it may take a few hours to get him to focus on the important bits of information rather than just telling us stories about how some famous friend of his sent him a gold toilet seat or whatever.”

  
Tony shook his head and sighed. “Christopher Rhiney is a successful and powerful man who’s clearly used to being in charge. It’s important he feels comfortable and that he trusts us, so if listening to his… _colorful_ stories helps, then so be it. However, I shouldn’t need to remind you that our job here, first and foremost, is to keep him safe. At some point, he’ll realize he’s no longer the one calling the shots. But for now, I would strongly urge that you withhold whatever personal opinions you may have about the man and focus on the task at hand. Do you think you can do that?”

  
The tips of Ron’s ears burned as he pressed his mouth into a thin, resigned line and nodded in agreement.

  
“Now, in terms of his actual day to day business, I think the both of us should plan on being in on as many of his meetings as possible moving forward.”

  
“What about Hermione?” Ron asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to split our coverage so one of us can be with her during the day?”

  
Tony rolled the quill between his fingers. “Now that you mention it…” He furrowed his brow. “Let’s plan on meeting with her tomorrow to discuss the fire at her flat. Then we can ask about her job and how her days usually look.”

  
“She works at the Ministry,” Ron responded quickly. “The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She’s been there since she left Hogwarts two years ago.”

  
Tony raised his brows in surprise. “I thought you said you two fell out three years ago?” The heat from the tips of Ron’s ears trickled down the back of his neck and he brought a hand up to quickly rub at it as he looked away. Tony folded his hands together under his chin. “Ministry employee or not, you’re still right– it’s better to keep someone with her until we can assess the threats being made and start making arrests.”

  
“D’you think we’ll need to have additional Aurors come here to help with the guard?”

  
Tony shook his head. “Not yet. From what I can tell, things have been safe at the manor, so it shouldn’t be a problem if it’s just us two. Once we get a clearer picture of what Rhiney’s day-to-day operations are like, we’ll reassess. As for overnight shifts, we’ll want to create a regular schedule so neither of us is feeling overworked. I was thinking that for tonight–”

  
“I’ll stay,” Ron volunteered quickly and Tony’s eyebrows shot up in surprise yet again. “I know you have concerns about me, but I promise I can handle it on my own. Let me prove it.”

  
Tony scratched his goatee, looking resigned. “Fine. You can stay here alone tonight and then we’ll reconvene tomorrow morning. But if anything looks odd or suspicious–”

  
“I’ll send word straight away, I swear.”

  
Ron and Tony continued to discuss the details of their investigation for most of the afternoon before eventually meeting with Benson and the staff at the manor. And although he was happy for the distraction work offered and the chance to feel productive, Ron still found himself glancing toward the double doors every so often, searching for a flash of curly hair or the sound of heels clicking hurriedly across tiled floors.

  
He had hoped at some point he could sneak off to try and find Hermione and apologize – just what he would say to her, he still wasn’t entirely sure – but with both Harry and Tony’s words ringing in his ears, he knew he had to do something. But as the afternoon faded into evening, the opportunity never presented itself and he and Tony continued working steadily all the way until dinnertime.

  
Seated at the long dining room table, Ron’s stomach growled painfully as he realized he hadn’t eaten more than some toast and coffee early that morning. He watched gratefully as the staff, led by Benson and a tiny older French woman with striking grey eyes named Helene, who was the head of the kitchen, brought in platter after platter of food. They laid out a sumptuous meal of roasted quail with mushroom and wild rice stuffing, buttery mint peas, boiled golden potatoes, freshly baked rolls and, for dessert, an apple and rhubarb crumble topped with vanilla ice cream. Ron piled his plate high, so consumed with his need for food that he barely registered the near-constant stream of anecdotes coming from the head of the table. Clearly, not even a long and busy day could slow down Christopher Rhiney, who was as bright and cheerful as ever and gladly led the dinner conversation, hardly pausing for a breath or a bite of food.

  
While he ate, Ron watched Hermione surreptitiously, a practice he had all but perfected back at Hogwarts. He hoped to catch her eye at some point, but quickly realized his efforts were useless; Hermione stubbornly refused to look in his direction. Studying her, Ron once again was struck by how odd it was to feel like he could both know her so well that he could place every curl in her hair and freckle on her skin, yet still feel as though she were barely an acquaintance. Glimmers of the Hermione he had once known peeked out every so often, like when a member of the staff came to clear plates or glasses and she made a point of thanking them by name and smiling kindly. But for the majority of the meal, she sat quietly, picking at the food in front of her and sipping her wine while periodically stealing glances at her watch.

  
When Chris finally turned the conversation to Hermione, Ron was surprised by her lack of interest. She only just acknowledged Chris as he spoke, instead allowing him to speak for her, though Ron did note the occasional narrowing of her eyes and pursing of her lips. She seemed absorbed in her thoughts and wholly disinterested in what was being said. But while no one else seemed to notice, to Ron, it was so unlike the Hermione he knew, who never once missed an opportunity to offer her opinions, debate, or even argue, to choose to sit in self-imposed silence.

  
After dinner at Chris’ insistence, the group retired to the sitting room once again. Ron watched as Hermione moved ahead of him and sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, and felt his stress ratchet up a notch. He still had no idea if, or when, he might have the opportunity to speak to her alone and knew his time was running out. Tony, he noticed, was also growing more restless as the evening wore on, but true to his words from earlier in the day, he continued to smile blithely and accommodate Chris’ clear need to entertain.

  
Finally, as the grandfather clock struck nine and the clang of bells from deep within echoed out through the room, Tony stood up. “I really should get going,” he said, an apologetic smile crossing his face. “Thank you for dinner and your patience today.”

  
“Ah, yes! I do suppose I’ve kept you here long enough,” Chris replied as he stood as well, clapping a hand on the sturdy Auror’s shoulder. Ron once again found himself fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

  
“Ron’s staying overnight to help keep an eye on things, but I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning.”

  
“Wonderful!” Chris said as he walked Tony over to the fireplace and removed a small crystal bowl filled with Floo powder from the mantle. “As I said before, I hope you two will be comfortable here and can make yourselves at home. I know it probably isn’t your first choice, having to temporarily move in at least part time, but if there’s anything my staff or myself can do to help make you feel more at ease, please let me know.”

  
“I’m sure we’ll be just fine, thank you. And it was very nice to meet you, Hermione,” Tony said, turning towards her. She was now standing as well, her hands clasped lightly in front of her.

  
“You too, Tony. Thank you for staying, and please send our apologies to your wife for keeping you so late.”

  
“Have a good night,” Tony said as he flung the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald flames.

  
Once he disappeared from view, Hermione turned to Chris. “I think I’m going to turn in as well.”

  
“So soon?” For only the second time that day, Chris frowned. “I feel like I’ve barely spent any time with you.”

  
“It’s been a long day and there have been a lot of… surprises.” Hermione’s eyes flicked towards Ron. “I really just want to curl up in bed and go to sleep, if that’s all right.”

  
“If you must,” Chris said with a pout as he approached her, placing a hand on each side of her waist. “Perhaps it’s for the best – you do look rather tired. Besides, maybe now Ronald and I can spend some one-on-one time together. Get to know each other better.”

  
Ron, both desperate to avoid spending any alone time with Chris, and sensing an opportunity to try and get Hermione on her own, all but flew out of his chair. “Er, actually, now that you mention it, I should, erm, head upstairs as well. You know, it really has been a long day and it’s, er, late and we – meaning me and Tony – have loads planned for tomorrow, so I should probably rest up. I still need to finish unpacking and, erm, wrap up my reports for the day. Boring stuff, but a necessary part of the job.”

  
Hermione’s calculating stare met Ron’s from across the room. She narrowed her eyes briefly, then, with a small smile, turned her gaze back towards Chris as she wrapped a hand around his arm.

  
“Why don’t you come up to bed with me? I can tell you about my day with my mum and you can tell me how your meetings went. Like you said, we’ve barely had the chance to spend any time together. Alone.” She purposely emphasized the last word, and Ron clenched his jaw as he fought to keep his face neutral.

  
Chris beamed and wagged his eyebrows suggestively. “Now, how could I possibly say no to that?” He snaked an arm around Hermione’s back. “I hope you’ll be comfortable in your room tonight, Ronald. And if you need anything, please know my home is your home.” He grabbed Hermione’s hand. “Have a good night!”

  
He led her out of the room, quickly ushering her through the double doors. Right before they clicked shut, Ron watched, transfixed in horror, as Chris pulled Hermione to him and kissed her soundly on the mouth.

  
The sound of footsteps across the marble floors grew distant and after a few moments, the only noise that filled the room was the steady ticking of the grandfather clock. Ron stared, his chest aching and his stomach in knots. Why had he volunteered to stay the first night? Why had he told Tony he could handle this on his own, or even at all?

  
_There’s no fucking way I can work this case_ , he thought dejectedly. _First thing tomorrow morning, I’m telling Tony he needs to find a new partner. The faster I can get out of here, the better._

  
Despondent and eager to escape, Ron made his way out through the foyer and trudged up the staircase towards his bedroom. Once inside, he quickly and quietly kicked off his boots and changed out of his robes, leaving them in a scattered heap on the ground, before pulling on a pair of sweats and a thin, cotton t-shirt. Not caring that he wasn’t really tired or that there actually was a report he should work on, he crawled into the large four-poster bed, yanking the giant white comforter up over his head as though trying to hide. He grabbed the Deluminator off the bedside table, flicked it open, and watched as the room was immediately submerged in darkness, save for a sliver of moonlight that issued in from the window and fell gently across the bed.

  
As he lay there, his stomach still twisting and turning, he struggled to chase away the image of Hermione and Chris kissing that kept replaying over and over again. He tossed and turned, his body and mind completely restless, but eventually exhaustion began to creep up on him. He tried to relax, though mostly unsuccessfully, yet in spite of himself, he slowly drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

  
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  
It’s hot. Stiflingly so, as he sits in the shade of an apple tree in the orchard at the Burrow. He’s supposed to be picking fruit for that night’s dinner after de-gnoming the yard, but he gave up the pretense of trying a while ago. Truth is he doesn’t care and doesn’t care who knows it. Running his hand across the back of his neck as he stares out into the distance, he allows himself to get lost in thought.

  
Just twenty-two days ago, he was running around Hogwarts, battling Death Eaters while searching for Ravenclaw’s diadem and a way to destroy Voldemort’s snake. Seven days after that, he sat through a memorial service for those who died during the Battle of Hogwarts, including his own brother, and watched as his family wept and the world collapsed around him.

  
Two days later, he saw Hermione naked for the first time. And a week after that, they had sex.

  
Grief is a funny thing. He knows its only been three weeks since the world ended and then started all over again, but to him, it feels infinitely longer. He’s an old man at eighteen - a tornado of emotions and difficult, painful memories, all percolating inside of him, ready to explode at any moment and it takes everything he has to try and keep himself together, minute by minute.

  
He’s grateful for his family and friends who are alive, and for his own life, and the chance to move forward and start fresh. Yet he’s also filled with a bitter, unabating rage, which beats deep inside him like a drum, rattling his ribcage with every heartbeat. Rage at the lives lost and shattered by the war. Rage at the wildly unfair ways that fate has turned out for himself and for those around him.

  
Rage that his brother is dead.

  
And the fear – the earth-shattering, heart-stopping terror, which claws at his insides like the icy hands of a Dementor leaning in for a kiss… it startles him awake at night, leaving him shaking and drenched in a cold sweat.  


It’s suffocating. And relentless.

  
He’s walking a tightrope between fine and not fine, happy and despairing, brave and cowardly. He doesn’t know how much longer he can carry on like this. He realizes it’s become a case of when, not if.

  
Pushing up off the ground, he searches the distance as he walks and sees Harry and Ginny walking slowly together as they feed the chickens and speak softly. Heading back into the house, he squints as his eyes adjust to the dark. It’s quiet, except for the ticking of the family clock and the gentle rumbling snores emanating from the sofa where his mother has fallen asleep.

  
He stares at her, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes and suddenly his lungs constrict and his eyes start to prickle. His strong, wonderful mother who has lived through two wars and buried not just her friends and loved ones, but her brothers and now a son as well. She looks so peaceful as she sleeps, the lines on her face smoothed temporarily, and in that instant, he has to stop himself from tightly wrapping his arms around her, hiding his face in her lap, and screaming.

  
Instead, he takes a deep breath in and pulls an old knitted blanket off the back of the sofa and drapes it carefully over her sleeping frame.

  
From the next room, he can hear the gentle murmur of voices and the sound of a tap running. Something fluffy brushes against his leg and he looks down to see Crookshanks weaving his way between his legs, his bulbous yellow eyes peering up from his comically squashed face. He leans down to scratch between the cat’s ears before walking towards the kitchen.

  
He feels like a magnet being pulled to its opposite pole, and his heart begins to thump inside his chest as he draws closer to her. As he approaches, he sees her standing at the counter, tearing the husks off of corn as she helps Fleur prepare dinner and he drinks her in hungrily – the way her hair is loosely tied back and away from her face, but with a few escaped curls that dangle freely and brush against the exposed skin of her neck; the way her brow furrows as she methodically removes the silky hairs clinging to the corn before dropping the cleaned ears inside a large pot; the way she gently wets her lips with her tongue, leaving them momentarily glossy in a way that makes his heart stop and his jeans tighten.

  
The war inside him rages as loud as ever, a lethal mixture of lust and guilt, but looking at her helps quiet the din slightly. He knows if he can get closer, it will help mute it, even if only for a moment, and this knowledge, mingled with the desperate desire he feels for her, propels him forward.

  
Fleur stands at the sink as she washes a basket full of summer squash and zucchini, chatting happily while keeping her back towards the room. He enters silently, hoping to avoid detection by his well-meaning sister in law, and reaches up for a glass from inside the cupboard. He grabs a pitcher of icy pumpkin juice from off the counter, filling his glass and taking a long swig, and as he brings the cup down again, he sees Hermione staring at him, a small frown etched across her brow as she searches his face.

  
He feels another flicker of shame combined with desire, and glances over towards the sink where Fleur is, checking to make sure she hasn’t turned around or noticed his presence yet. She’s still scrubbing the vegetables, prattling on about a summer she spent with her sister years ago in the south of France, and as he turns back to Hermione again, a half smile tugs at his lips.

  
Moving carefully, he draws his hand up her side ever so gently, before slipping his fingertips underneath the hem of her shirt. Hermione’s eyes grow wide, and feeling emboldened, he licks his lips before dipping his fingers down past the waistband of her shorts. His hand is still cold from the pumpkin juice, and he watches as she bites her lip in an effort to keep from gasping, though her eyes flutter shut for a moment at the contact.

  
She takes a shaky breath in and as she does so, leans closer, flattening his palm against her skin. Now it’s his turn to stifle a moan as he sinks his fingers into her, gripping her hip in his hand and pulling her closer to him.

  
“Are you done with ze corn yet, ‘Ermione? Because you can start chopping ze squash and ze zucchini zat are finishing being washed.”

  
At the sound of Fleur’s voice, he swiftly pulls his hand away and Hermione takes a step backward. He grabs his glass off the counter and heads out of the kitchen towards the stairs, taking two at a time on his way up to his bedroom, his heart racing inside his chest. As he leaves, he can hear Hermione answer Fleur, though he only catches snippets of her response, including something about a tonic and Crookshanks.

  
Once he reaches his bedroom, he shuts the door behind him, placing his half-full glass of juice on his dresser and begins to pace. In his head, he counts.

  
_1…2…3…4..._

  
Before he gets to five, there’s the sound of footsteps and then a small knock at the door. He crosses the room swiftly, and in rapid succession, opens the door, grabs Hermione’s hand, and pulls her inside with him before closing it shut again.

  
He barely has time to turn the lock before they’re kissing frantically. Hermione grips his shirt in her hands, pulling his mouth crashing down to hers, clumsy and reckless and with a kind of wild abandon that makes him lightheaded. They stumble across the room, bumping into his dresser and causing a bag of owl treats to topple over and pumpkin juice to spill and dribble down the side and onto the floor. They finally come to a halt when they crash into the far wall and he presses her up against it, his body flush with hers.

  
His hands move up under her clothes again and now freely explore her body, causing her shirt to bunch up as he kneads her breasts before moving around to the clasp at the back of her bra. As he fumbles with it, he trails his mouth down the side of her neck, stopping to gently kiss the thin pink scar that lives there now, before moving to suck on her earlobe. She moans and dips her head back, exposing more of her skin to him and with a jolt, he feels her tugging on his belt.

  
“We shouldn’t be doing this right now,” she gasps as she undoes the buckle and begins working on the top button of his jeans. “It’s the middle of the day; the house is full of people. We’re going to get caught.”

  
She manages to undo his jeans just as he unclasps her bra underneath her shirt.

  
“Say the word, and I’ll stop,” he says, his voice husky. Hermione drags her fingernails across his back as she pulls his shirt up and off his head and he emits a low growl. He temporarily abandons touching her in order to free himself of the oppressive garment, before immediately reaching for her again, this time grabbing her backside as he grinds his hips against hers.

  
A dull pang of guilt rings out inside his chest but this time it’s so faint, he almost can’t feel it. He wants to hide, to bury himself deep inside her and never come out. He needs to escape his pain and rage and the lurking fear that threatens to swallow him whole, even if only for a moment. He knows he’s a walking catastrophe and that in time, if he’s not careful, he’s going to break her in the same way that he is broken. But he also knows that selfishly, she’s the only thing that makes him feel steady. She’s the only thing that calms the storm raging inside him.

  
She’s the only thing that makes him feel alive.

  
“Fuck, I’ve missed touching you…”

  
Hermione gives a breathy laugh as she draws her hands around his sides and up the front of his chest, lightly grazing his skin and he shivers in response.

  
“I literally slept here last night. It’s been less than twelve hours!”

  
She tangles a hand up into his hair at the back of his neck and presses the other into his chest over his heart. He reaches inside the back of her shorts, feeling lace and cotton covering soft, smooth skin and kisses her neck again.

  
“It’s been a bloody eternity, is what it is.” He squeezes and she gives a tiny squeak in response. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep without you again.”

  
Hermione tilts her head back and cocks an eyebrow at him. “You won’t be able to sleep without me or without…?”

  
He takes his hands out from the back of her shorts and in an instant, he’s undone the button and pulled down the zipper. He gives her a roguish smile.

  
“Both.”

  
“Randy git.”

  
He leans over and kisses the skin beneath her ear, eliciting another soft moan from her. The hand resting on his chest now slides down his front, just stopping at the waistband of his boxers. She begins to pull at the elastic, and he takes a sharp breath in.

  
“Says the girl with her hand practically shoved down my pants.”

  
Suddenly, she pushes him away, disentangling from him completely. He’s so shocked by the action and the loss of contact he gapes, open-mouthed, at her.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, her cheeks flushed and her swollen lips pressed into a frown. “It’s just – you’re right. We have to stop.”

  
He stares at her, dumbfounded. “Are you mad? I didn’t – no, I definitely did _not_ say that. I want to do the opposite of stopping. I want to _go_. I want to go and never stop again. I want to go and go and go–” He takes a step towards her, but she puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

  
“Ron,” she says his name like a warning, “please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  
“I feel like I should be the one saying that.”

  
She makes a tsking noise and rolls her eyes, but she can’t fully hide the smile that’s pulling at the corner of her mouth.

  
“I’m serious. We’re being reckless. What would we do if we were caught?”

  
“Learn to be quieter and start casting anti-intruder charms?”

  
“ _Ron_ –”

  
“All right, all right! I’m only joking…” He sighs heavily and brings a hand up to her face, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “I didn’t really think I’d be able to convince you to get a leg over before dinner anyway.” Hermione eyes him dubiously and he laughs. “Okay, fine, maybe I hoped I could talk you into it.”

“I’d hardly call what we were doing _talking_ ,” she says and shakes her head. “And it almost worked.” He chuckles and she cups his face tenderly in her hands, brushing her thumbs across his cheeks. “I have to get back downstairs. Fleur’s going to grow suspicious if I’m gone much longer.” She leans in and kisses him gently and he wraps his arms around her in response, hoping to extend this moment and put off the inevitable for just a bit longer. As she starts to pull away, he leans his forehead against hers.

  
“I love you. You know that, right?”

  
His voice cracks and he swallows against the lump forming in his throat. She smiles brilliantly, her eyes crinkling at the corners, as she wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her head up so she can kiss the tip of his nose.

  
“I do. And I love you, too.”

  
“Come stay with me again tonight?” He hates himself for begging. He feels pathetic and embarrassed and he’s sure she’s secretly repulsed by his obvious need for her, but he can’t stop himself. “I really do only sleep when you’re near.”

  
“I know,” she says, her voice small and tinged with sadness. “Me too.”

  
He’s teetering on the edge, convinced that her answer will either save or destroy him. “Please, love?” he whispers and then holds his breath, praying she can’t see how close he is to completely falling apart.

  
Hermione exhales a small, contented hum. Her lips brush against his, feather light and soft, before she carefully slips out from between him and the wall.

  
“Okay,” she smiles as she works her hands up into her shirt, refastening her bra, and then buttons and zips her shorts. “But just for tonight since Harry’s still sleeping in Percy’s old room. I really couldn’t bear it if we were caught.” She picks his shirt up off the floor and helps him put it back on. As he gets dressed, she shakes her head. “It’s the oddest thing…”

  
“What is?” he asks as he tugs on the hem and she looks at him curiously.

  
“I can’t quite place why, but it feels like we’re living on borrowed time.”

  
He watches as she turns and heads out of the room, closing the door behind her. As soon as it clicks shut, his stomach lurches, dread filling his veins, and he rushes to follow after her. He flings the door open, desperate to stop her from leaving him, but as soon as he steps onto the landing, the setting changes.

  
He’s standing in Hogwarts just outside the Room of Requirement, but the castle is no longer the welcoming home he once knew, but the site of a devastating battle. There are gaping holes that have been blasted through the thick, stone walls, smoke billows and floats away from a singed tapestry as it hangs loosely, and he can hear fighting in the distance growing closer and closer. His body aches and he’s covered in grime and dirt, and as he realizes what’s about to happen, his heart seizes with fear.

  
An explosion goes off beside him and he’s flung to the floor. He scrambles to his feet, twisting and turning wildly, searching for her in the clearing smoke and rubble. Then he hears it.

  
“No – no – no! No, Fred! No!”

  
Eyes staring without seeing.

  
The ghost of a laugh still etched upon his face.

  
Then nothing.

  
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  
Ron awoke trembling and drenched in sweat. He bolted upright in bed, his heart thumping at a maddening pace while he gasped for air and gripped at the bed sheets.

  
His mind was hazy, still stuck in the terror of the scene he just escaped, and as he sat in bed trying to figure out what happened and where he was, he worked to focus on his breathing. He took long breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth over and over again, until finally his heart rate began to slow and he could form cogent thoughts once more. He reminded himself that he was fine and it had just been a nightmare, but the ever-present knowledge that it all had been real once lurked at the surface and prevented him from settling down completely.

  
Just as he had at eighteen, he suddenly found himself craving the only thing that had ever brought him a modicum of peace when he was this emotionally raw. The only person he had ever wanted, or needed, when the nightmares and memories swarmed around him and threatened to drown him in the past.

  
_Hermione…_

  
Ron looked around, half hoping to miraculously find her there and pull her close to him, but was only met by pillows.

  
Rubbing his hands over his face, he weighed his options. He could lie back down, stare at the ceiling, and play his dream on repeat until the sun began to peek out from over the hills in the distance and the rest of the house stirred to life. Or, he could do what he always did: get up and find something to do.

  
He swung his legs over the side of the bed as he pushed back the comforter, grabbed his wand from off the bedside table, and tiptoed out of the room.

  
The house was dark except for the beams of moonlight streaming in from the windows, casting long shadows on the walls. Muttering, " _Lumos_ ," the tip of his wand shone brightly as he continued his way down the stairs and into the foyer.

  
He wasn't entirely sure where he was going but decided the best idea was to probably head into the sitting room. Maybe he could play a game of chess or read a book next to the fire. Something about the idea of paging through the old copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ that was nestled into one of the bookshelves calmed him slightly. The feeling of its well-worn pages slipping through his fingers just as they had once passed through hers–

  
A muffled noise to Ron’s left stopped him dead in his tracks as he walked through the dining room and he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. His Auror instincts kicking in, he stood with bated breath, waiting to see if he heard it again.

  
_Clink clink clink..._

  
In an instant, Ron swiftly and silently maneuvered himself next to the door to the kitchen, his wand poised and ready. He pushed the swinging door open and slipped inside, his eyes darting around as he looked for a hidden intruder, but was met with an empty room. Confused but still on high alert, he crept in further, checking around the corners of the dark granite countertops and the tall wooden cabinets. As he walked towards the large fireplace, he noticed a pile of wooden logs sitting in the grate, but as he began to move past it, Ron sensed someone walk up behind him. He whipped around, his wand pointed.

  
“ _STUPE_ — _Hermione?_ ”

  
She stood in front of him looking far more like the Hermione he knew from his youth than she had earlier, wearing a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, her hair tied back into a messy ponytail, and a sour look on her face. She carried a copper teakettle and a handful of teabags, and she shifted the contents slightly as she regarded him with a mixture of surprise and deep dislike.

  
“What are you doing up? Shouldn't you be in bed?” he asked her roughly, his heart still racing.

  
She rolled her eyes. “Shouldn't _you_?” They stood in a silent standoff for a moment longer before she sighed exasperatedly. “Would you _please_ point that thing somewhere else? Honestly...”

  
She pushed past him and placed the kettle inside the fireplace. With a flick of her wand, Ron watched as bright, blue flames erupted underneath, instantly filling the room with warm, flickering light.

  
Ron pocketed his wand, watching as she walked over to a set of cupboards to her right and stood on tiptoe to remove a small, plastic bottle of honey. As she stretched, her shirt rode up, revealing a sliver of skin underneath. He swallowed hard as he fought to ignore the memory of his cold hands dipping inside the waistband of her shorts as he sunk his fingers into her hip and her eyes fluttered shut at the contact–

  
“Are you all right?”

  
He shook his head distractedly, his ears burning, and he mentally cursed himself.

  
“M’fine.”

  
With another look of great annoyance, she pushed an errant strand of hair off her face and continued to rummage through the cupboards, pulling out a small box of chocolate biscuits and a plate. Ron, unsure of what to do, stood awkwardly to the side as he studied her, noting how the light from the fire reflected on her face, warming her complexion, and the gentle curve of her mouth as she quickly wet her lips with her tongue before pursing them together.

  
Ron’s ears and neck burned again, and he opened his mouth to say something, anything, to break up the silence. But as he did so, a soft whistling noise came from the fireplace and Hermione walked over to the kettle, taking it off the fire and bringing it back over to the plate of biscuits and container of honey. She grabbed two large mugs from the back of the counter and began filling them before turning around, holding a steaming mug out towards him.

  
“Here.”

  
Ron frowned. “What?”

  
“You’re here with me, so I may as well make you a cup.”

  
“Er, you didn’t have to–”

  
“Oh, would you just take the stupid thing?” she snapped, and Ron’s mouth immediately shut as he took the tea from her outstretched hand. Hermione turned back to the counter, picking up her mug and the plate of biscuits before walking around the island in the middle of the room and sat down on one of the tall barstools. She stared at him expectantly, then sighed again. “Are you just going to stand there and gape or are you going to sit?”

  
Ron’s eyes grew wide as he bit back a smile. He definitely recognized this Hermione.

  
Realizing her statement as more directive than a question, he wound his way around the island and joined her on the stool next to her.

  
They sat silently; the only sound coming from the occasional clinking of their mugs on the countertop and their quiet sips, but neither spoke a word. Mentally, Ron waged a war with himself, trying to work up to courage to speak, as well as figure out just what to say. Eventually, he cleared his throat.

  
“Thanks for the tea.”

  
“Yes, well…” Hermione shifted slightly before sniffing as she gave him a cursory glance. “I may be a snob, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have manners.”

  
Ron grimaced, hiding his face behind his mug. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  
“I’msorryIwasanarseearlier.”

  
Hermione stared at him bewildered. “What?”

  
Ron took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I'm sorry for how I acted earlier. I was an arse and I feel awful about what happened and what I said. I just… it should come as no surprise that you were right; this is an awkward situation for both of us. It’s not your fault we are where we are and if we’re both going to be here and around each other, it would be better if we weren't always biting each other's heads off. So, I mean it. I'm really sorry, Hermione."

  
She frowned as she looked at him and Ron could feel his hope for forgiveness start to slip away. However, as she turned back to her tea and stared down into it, she spoke quietly.

  
“Thank you for saying that.” She absentmindedly traced her finger around the rim of her mug. “I suppose I should apologize as well. I said some hurtful things to you, too, so… I’m sorry.”

  
Ron fought to stifle a chuckle. “I appreciate that, even if I don’t think you entirely mean it.” Hermione whipped her head around to stare at him indignantly and Ron gave her a cheeky smile. “Come on, Hermione – you really expect me to believe you hadn’t practiced that speech you gave? Though, for the record,” he rushed, raising his hands in surrender as Hermione opened her mouth to retort, “I deserved at least some of it. And you had the right to say most of it.”

  
Hermione bit her lower lip as she tucked the same loose curl that had fallen into her face before behind her ear. “I didn’t _practice_ it…” she said and Ron raised an eyebrow at her. Her cheeks flushed as she looked away, hastily grabbing a biscuit off the plate. “Oh, shut up,” she muttered, and Ron snorted as he watched her break a chunk off in her hand. “Some of what I said may have been warranted, or at least partially true, but it doesn’t mean I should have said it. I got carried away and I should have behaved better. So, I mean it, too. I’m sorry.”

  
She turned to look back up at him, her expression soft and sincere, and warmth blossomed in his chest as he met her gaze. He sat up a little straighter and smiled.

  
“So… should we call it even, then, and pretend it never happened?” Hermione looked skeptical, but Ron turned in his stool so that his body completely faced hers. “Hello, Hermione. It’s nice to see you again.”

  
He saw a small smile nudging at the corner of her mouth before finally, rolling her eyes, she replied, “Hello, Ron. It’s been a long time.”

  
“Three years, to be exact,” he said, and then more seriously, he added, “Look, I know you never expected to see me again, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought the same. And I know your feelings towards me are... less than friendly.” His stomach twisted, but he pressed on. “But even if the chances of us being close again are almost nonexistent, I hope my being here won't be unbearable for you…” He trailed off, then grew quiet as he fiddled with his mug.

  
All at once, the full impact of his words hit him. Regardless of how he felt or what Harry said, he could never really win Hermione back; it was practically impossible after what he had done and the time that had passed. But as his shoulders slumped, he breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have gotten out what he needed to say.

  
“It isn’t unbearable,” Hermione said in a small voice, causing him to look up at her. “It certainly helps that you apologized, but I was serious earlier when I said I’m grateful you and Tony are here.” She looked out the window into the backyard, watching the moon’s reflection in the pond. “I don’t want to make your job more difficult. And…” she hesitated, “maybe we can’t be friends again. But I don’t want to spend the next however many months constantly at war with you.”

  
Ron nodded solemnly. “I don’t want that either.”

  
They fell silent again, each sipping their tea and absorbed in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Hermione chuckled quietly, and Ron eyed her dubiously.

  
“We really do have quite a history together, don't we?” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “We’re part of the famous ‘Golden Trio,’ as the Daily Prophet put it.” She rolled her eyes, bringing her elbow up on the counter and leaning her head against her hand. “With all we've gone through together and with Harry, it’s a bit hard to ignore, isn't it?” She stared wistfully out the window again into the yard. “Sometimes, I wish we could go back in time to when we were young. Some things were much… simpler.”

  
Ron coughed into his tea, and Hermione looked back at him, bemused.

  
“What?”

  
“Oh, nothing," he replied breezily as he grabbed a biscuit off the plate and took a bite. “Just the idea that you think hunting for Horcruxes and barely escaping Voldemort and his Death Eaters was simple–”

  
“That’s not what I meant!” she looked at him, half exasperated, half amused. “And besides, it’s not like much has changed for you and Harry. You two are still chasing dark wizards.”

  
Ron smiled and shrugged. “I guess you're right. But at least I get paid to do it now. Makes it a bit easier to deal with.”

  
He popped the rest of the biscuit in his mouth when a meowing sound caught his attention. Crookshanks was rubbing his squashed face against Ron's leg and staring at him expectantly.

  
“Well, hello there, Crookshanks. Come to join the party, have you?” Ron chuckled as the tabby meowed again and jumped lightly onto his lap, purring loudly. Hermione looked on in wonder.

  
“I can't believe you two. Honestly, you used to hate each other and now look at you – you’re the best of friends, aren't you?” She scratched Crookshanks’ head, before continuing. “You know, he doesn't even like Chris. I don't understand it – Chris has always been nice to Crookshanks but Crookshanks won't go anywhere near him. He just stares at him, and if Chris tries to pet him, he starts hissing.”

  
Ron stuffed down the laugh building in his throat, feeling a sudden wave of affection for as the mass of ginger fur sitting in his lap. “Yeah, but Crookshanks was never the most trusting cat in the world, was he? Maybe he just needs some time to warm up to him.” Crookshanks purred loudly as Ron rubbed behind his ears. “So, how is it working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? I imagine they’ll be announcing your promotion to Department Head any day now.”

  
“Hardly,” she said, and Ron couldn’t help but notice the slight sharpness in her tone as she gripped the mug in her hands. “To say that things move slowly where bureaucracy is involved is an understatement.” She began to pet Crookshanks again, and he happily nuzzled his face into the palm of her hand. “When I first started, I was thrilled because I thought I could really make a difference in the lives of magical creatures who, all too often, are pushed aside or maligned by our society. But…”

  
Ron frowned. “But what?”

  
“But when I got there, I found that most of the people I work with are more interested in maintaining the status quo and emphasizing the “control” part of Regulation and Control.” Hermione met his gaze and shook her head. “It’s been a battle every day to try and make inroads, and even the small gains feel insignificant in the long run. It’s like I’m trying to climb a hill of sand.”

  
“I’m sure the work you’ve done has made a bigger impact than you think. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” Hermione looked unconvinced and Ron pressed on. “What are you working on now?”

  
“I’m helping draft a bill to set up protections and further the rights for house elves – sort of an offshoot of what I started with S.P.E.W.”

  
Ron beamed at her. “That’s amazing, Hermione. And I bet once you’re finished, you’ll cut through all the bureaucratic bullshit and get it passed.”

  
Hermione’s cheeks turned faintly pink, but she smiled. “I know you always thought I was mad when it came to elfish welfare, but after I graduated from Hogwarts, it felt like something I needed to do.” She grew quiet, and her smile faded. “And there’s a part of me that feels like I owe it to Dobby to try and give other house elves a chance to be happy like he was. Before he…” she trailed off, looking down at her lap.

  
Ron pictured Dobby, his tiny body wrapped in Harry’s jacket, wearing a woolen hat from Dean and his own socks and shoes, and he cleared his throat, trying to loosen the tightness that had set in.

  
“I think Dobby would be really chuffed to know you think so highly of him.”

  
“Of course I do!” Hermione said, looking up at Ron again, her eyes sparkling. “Dobby saved our lives – he deserves to be remembered.”

  
Suddenly, flashes of that night at Malfoy Manor rushed across Ron’s mind. They had been so close to dying; _she_ had been so close to dying, and in many ways, he had never gotten over the trauma of it. And the horrible injustice that Dobby, the kind, free elf who had saved them all from his old masters, had been killed in the end left Ron feeling as bitter and angry as ever.

  
He looked at Hermione and she met his gaze as a silent moment of understanding passed between them. But as they continued to stare, Ron became acutely aware of the fact that they were now facing one another, their knees gently touching. The strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail earlier was dangling in front of her face again and without thinking, Ron reached out and carefully tucked it behind her ear. As he brought his hand down, he noticed Hermione had closed her eyes at the contact. When she opened them, they looked at each other apprehensively, but unmoving.

  
_CLANG!_

  
The grandfather clock rang out from the sitting room, cutting through the tension and causing them both to jump in their seats. Crookshanks, who had been sitting on Ron’s lap, jumped down, his bottlebrush tail swishing angrily as he stalked away. Ron cleared his throat noisily as Hermione blushed, and they both quickly averted their gazes. The clock chimed only once, stopping almost as soon as it had started, and in no time at all, the room drew quiet once more.

  
“Er –”

  
“We should probably head up to bed,” Hermione said in a rush and before Ron could reply, she stood up, and with a flick of her wand, sent the mugs and plate soaring into the sink, while the box of biscuits and the container of honey retreated back into the cupboards. Once she was done, she walked over towards the door, stopping to turn back to him. "Are you coming?"

  
Ron nodded, standing up and shuffling out after her, his head still spinning. They walked upstairs silently, and as they reached the landing, Ron was struck by a thought.

  
“What's today’s date?”

  
Hermione stopped for a moment as she turned to face him. “The nineteenth.”

  
“Did you know it’s been your birthday for a whole hour now?”

  
Her eyes grew wide in surprise as she laughed quietly. “I can't believe you remembered,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  
“Of course I remembered! How could I forget?” He faltered slightly as his ears burned and he ran a hand through his hair.

  
“Then I suppose you get to be the first one to wish me a happy birthday.”

  
“So, does this mean we're all right?” he asked hopefully, giving her a lopsided grin. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest as she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Too soon?” he offered, and Hermione snorted.

  
“Well, there may be hope for you yet, Ron Weasley.”

  
She turned down the hall and began walking towards her bedroom. Ron watched as she passed in and out of the shadows like a ghost, the soft padding of her footsteps punctuating the quiet hum of the night.

  
“Goodnight, Hermione,” he whispered after her. “And happy birthday.”

  
She turned, her face half illuminated in the moonlight and as she smiled, Ron’s heart skipped in his chest.

  
“Goodnight, Ron.”

  
She turned and quietly disappeared into her bedroom. Ron watched the doors for a moment longer, then walked gingerly to his own room, a warm, tingling sensation expanding inside his chest. As he crawled back into bed, that feeling stayed with him and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	5. A Very Normal Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I suck. I suck so much for taking forever between chapters. Please forgive me.
> 
> That being said, thank you all for your patience and I love you all dearly. I definitely went a little crazy with this chapter and included more than was probably needed, but hey, sometimes stories can, and should, be a bit indulgent for the author, right?
> 
> Enjoy! :)

* * *

 

“You know, if someone had told me being an Auror was mostly writing loads of reports, I reckon I’d have seriously reconsidered taking the job.”  
  


Ron collapsed into the chair behind his desk at the Ministry, placing a report atop the mountain of paperwork stacked precariously in front of him. Harry, who was seated at the desk across from him, glanced up from the letter he was reading.

  
“If it’s any consolation, everyone’s buried in work. Ever since the explosion at Mr. Mulpepper’s, all Sean and I seem to do is paperwork. Well, that and dodge angry letters.”

  
“Bloody Rita Skeeter…” Ron muttered darkly as he pulled another report towards him.

  
Two weeks prior, an attack on one of the apothecary stores in Diagon Alley had resulted in the disappearance of the shop owner and a fire at the store. While no one else had been hurt and the Ministry had jumped to action straightaway, the ripple effects on the community had been immediate and widespread.

  
Shortly thereafter, the Ministry received a letter from the I.W.P. claiming responsibility for the attack, and as a result, all Aurors had been putting in double time as they sifted through evidence. Their efforts to unmask and arrest members of the group intensified, as well as security in Diagon Alley and other Wizarding enclaves, though to seemingly little benefit as of yet. And aside from a few dead-end leads and a steady stream of nasty articles in the Daily Prophet written by a venomous as ever Rita Skeeter, not much more had been accomplished.

  
For Tony and Ron, the extra work mainly translated to heavier supervision of all of Rhiney’s business dealings, involving extra Aurors more often, as well as becoming more involved with Hermione’s day-to-day work, much to her chagrin. On this particular day, the two had split their duties once again; Tony was leading a small team of Aurors to oversee a warehouse walkthrough with Chris at the Port of Blyth, while Ron was tasked with supervising Hermione as she worked.

  
Usually, just the thought of sitting idly in an office was irritating. However, as he was already horribly behind on his paperwork and had absolutely zero interest in spending the day following a preening Christopher Rhiney around, it had worked out in Ron’s favor to be stationed at the Ministry. And, although he had initially been reluctant to agree, Hermione had finally convinced Ron to stay in the Auror offices so he could catch up on his work. Ron knew she was mostly eager to have the chance to work without the constant, hovering presence of a bodyguard, though, to her credit, she had refrained from saying so outright. And although Ron had made her swear, albeit grudgingly, that she would let him know immediately if at any point she was planning to leave the safety of her office, Hermione had agreed, but only as she hurried out of the lift and down the corridor to her office earlier that day.

  
Ron massaged his cramping hand as he finished another report before placing it on the much smaller pile of completed work. Reaching for his wand, he tapped the papers, causing them to reshuffle into a neater stack.

  
“The other day, Rhiney had a meeting at the manor that both Tony and I sat in on and, I mean it, Harry, I honestly thought, ‘This is it. _This_ is how I die. I survived being poisoned, splinching, a war, and bloody Voldemort himself, but now I’m gonna snuff it writing reports on importing and exporting regulations.’” Harry chuckled as Ron ran a freckled hand through his hair, then frowned. “I don't see how you can sit there and laugh. You and Sean must be going through hell, too, since you’re heading up the investigation into the explosion.”

  
Harry shook his head and looked up from the parchment he was reading. “Sorry - what'd you say?”

  
Ron narrowed his eyes. “What are you reading?”

  
“Nothing,” Harry said unconvincingly.

  
“You’re a terrible liar.”

  
“It's nothing, Ron, I swear,” Harry said as he folded up the letter and shoved it in his back pocket, shrugging.

  
“Then why are you being so shifty?”

  
“I’m not being shifty – you’re avoiding your work.”

  
“Oh, come off it!”

  
“I… all right, fine! It’s from Ginny—”

  
Ron pulled a face as he put his hands up quickly. “Urgh, okay - never mind! Forget I asked.”

  
Harry laughed. “See? I told you it was nothing. And as a side note, I can’t believe that it’s been three years and yet you’re still weird about me and Ginny.”

  
“I’m not _weird_ about you two. But there’re some things I don’t need to know.”

  
“Like letters…?” Harry said slowly.

  
“More like what’s in those letters,” Ron muttered.

  
“Considering how fast you and Hermione moved when you two got together, you’d think you’d be thrilled at how Ginny and I practically took a snail’s pace by comparison.”

  
Ron opened his mouth to argue, but a knock at the door interrupted him. Harry, sensing an opportunity to change the subject, quickly called out, “Come in!”

  
Sean strode into the room, a stack of purple folders under his arm. With a quick nod in Ron’s direction, he placed the pile on Harry’s desk. “These are the witness statements from the fire. I need you to go through them and look for any corroborating information.”

  
“I thought we already checked them over,” Harry said as he began thumbing through the folders.

  
“We did, but we have a meeting with the Minister and a team of Aurors in an hour, so we have to be thorough.” Sean turned towards Ron. “By the way, Weasley, I know Tony’s out in the field today, but I thought you should know we got the final report back from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes about their findings at Ms. Granger’s flat.”

  
“What did they say?” Ron asked eagerly as he pulled another piece of parchment towards him.

  
“Nothing helpful, I’m afraid. They couldn’t detect any dark magic and the remnants of spellwork they did find couldn’t be distinguished from what she may have used while living there.”

  
“So, another dead end? Perfect,” Ron grumbled as he leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his face.

  
“How is that possible?” Harry asked. “I read the report Ron wrote when he and Tony interviewed Hermione and there’s clearly a pattern forming with the increase of violent attacks and the fires in particular. And the letters being sent to Rhiney–”

  
“I know,” Sean sighed. “Nothing’s adding up, which is why Kingsley’s staying involved and why I need you to look through those statements again. It might not seem like much, but it’s all we’ve got.” He glanced down at his wristwatch. “I need to go prep, but meet me in my office in an hour. And bring notes!”

  
He hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him, and Harry groaned.

  
“This doesn’t make any sense! It’s like all the pieces are right in front of us but we can’t figure out how to put them together. It’s infuriating.”

  
“It’s times like these I really wish Hermione were an Auror,” Ron said as he gave a lazy flick of his wand and the stack of unfinished reports floated to the seat of a chair in front of his desk. “Spending hours studying witness statements, writing exhaustive reports, and taking copious amounts of notes? Sounds like her dream afternoon.”

  
Harry cocked a brow at Ron. “You sure that’s the only reason why you wish she were an Auror?”

  
Ron shot Harry a dirty look. “Would you shut it? If anyone caught wind that something was going on between me and her–”

  
Harry’s eyebrows flew up into his messy fringe. “ _Is_ there something going on between you two?”

  
“No! I just meant –” Ron spluttered as heat crawled up the back of his neck. “We’re talking. And she seems happy when I’m around, even when it’s just the two of us,” he said, picking at the corner of a report, “Things are…good.”

  
“Good?” Harry repeated. “That’s all?”

  
“I dunno,” Ron said as he stared at the paper in front of him. “We’re cautiously friendly.”

  
Harry nodded as he shuffled through the stack of folders on his desk. Finally, he said in a rush, “Ginny reckons you still have feelings for Hermione and that you should come out and tell her already.”

  
Ron gawked at Harry, his ears burning. “Oh for the love of – is _that_ what my sister is writing to you about? She’s not sending you sappy love letters, she’s sending notes on my relationship status with Hermione?”

  
Harry shrugged sheepishly. “I’m just passing along the message.”

  
“Yeah? Well, tell my baby sister to mind her own damn business.”

  
“If you think I can, or want, to have any control over the thoughts and actions of Ginny, then you clearly don’t know your sister,” Harry laughed.

  
Another swift knock sounded at the door, and as it swung open, Gemma walked in holding another stack of folders in her hands. Ron groaned.

  
“It’s nice to see you too, Ron,” she said, a perfectly arched eyebrow raised as she placed them on the end of his desk. “Relax. These are all Tony’s, but I’ll need yours as soon as you’ve finished them. Also, he sent an owl from Blyth. Apparently, Mr. Rhiney’s moving forward with his plans for expansion, including purchasing the warehouse they’re visiting now, and he’s adding business trips abroad to his calendar in the next few months.”

  
“ _Business trips_?” Ron choked, his eyes wide. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  
Gemma leaned her hip against Ron’s desk, crossing her arms under her bust. “Tony mentioned that he would likely be the one to travel, but said he’d talk to you about it tomorrow morning. And I've already spoken with the Minister; he said he’s comfortable with only one of you accompanying Rhiney on these trips.” Gemma flipped her silky blonde hair off her shoulder, shrugging, “Regardless, there’s going to be a lot more work, especially with Christmas and New Year’s around the corner. Speaking of which, Tony’s also informed me that Rhiney is planning a New Year’s Eve party – he said something about it being a tradition?”

  
Ron shook his head in disbelief. “That prat Rhiney wants to throw a party? _Now_? We’re over here dealing with disappearances and explosions, and putting in overtime to cover him and his work, but all he cares about is showing off for his famous friends.”

  
Gemma leaned closer as she slid her hand over his, gently intertwining their fingers.

  
“You'll get used to it, Ron. Being an Auror isn't always glamorous, but most of the time it's worth it.” She smiled brightly as her cheeks flushed and she squeezed his hand. “You know, I feel like we’ve barely seen each other. I’ve missed having you around.”

  
Ron’s ears burned red hot. “Oh. Erm, right…”

  
Harry cleared his throat noisily from across the room. Gemma, who had been seemingly unaware of her audience, startled as she straightened up off the desk.

  
“Oh! Hello, Harry. How are you?”

  
“Fine, thanks.”

  
“And your girlfriend? Are you two still together?”

  
“As far as I know.”

  
“Good, good,” she said dismissively as she quickly made her way back across the room. “Don’t forget to finish those reports and get them back to me as soon as possible. And Ron?” Gemma turned, her grey eyes trained on him, “It really is nice having you back in the office again. It’s been much too dreary with you gone.”

  
She blushed again as she smiled, then closed the door behind her, leaving Ron and Harry in a stunned silence.

  
“So,” Harry said after a pause, “that’s still going on, is it?”

  
Ron coughed as he pulled another report towards him. “We haven’t – I mean, I haven’t–” he stuttered, then gave an exasperated sigh. “Gemma’s nice and all and for a while there, we were sort of…” he trailed off, his ears burning. “But I’m living at the manor now and drowning in work. I’m not exactly seeing anyone. I’m focused on other things.”

  
“Right,” Harry said innocently, “Other things; other people.”

  
“There’s nothing going on between Gemma and me or anyone else,” Ron growled.

  
“Fine,” Harry chuckled as he rolled his eyes. “So, what was she saying about a party?”

  
Ron sighed. “Apparently, Rhiney throws some big New Year’s gala every year. I was really hoping Kingsley would push back on it, but it sounds like we might be stuck having to set that up, too.” He stared miserably at the pile of unfinished work sitting on his desk and rubbed his eyes roughly.

  
Harry blew out a long, low breath. “That’s going to be a nightmare.”

  
“And there’s going to be _loads_ more paperwork. _”_

  
Another knock sounded at the door and Ron, face still hidden in his hands, shouted irritably, “GO AWAY!”

  
“Well, if you're going to behave that way…”

  
At the sound of Hermione's voice, Ron’s head snapped up and he shot out of his chair, grabbing her arm.

  
“Sorry! I didn’t mean– we keep getting interrupted.” He smiled, but she frowned back, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

  
“If you're busy, I can come back another time. I don't want to disturb you—”

  
“NO! No, it’s all right. Here, sit.” Ron hastily moved the pile of reports off the chair as he offered it to her.

  
“Ignore him,” Harry teased. “Ron’s just having second thoughts about his choice of career.”

  
“Oh!” Hermione squeaked as she turned to look at Harry. “I’m so sorry, Harry! I didn’t even see you there.”

  
“Seems to be a theme for me today,” Harry quipped as Ron shot him a pointed look.

  
Hermione eyed them suspiciously as she slowly sank into the chair. “What are you talking about?”  
  
  
“Nothing,” Ron said promptly, cutting Harry off. “So, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? I didn’t miss a note from you, did I?”

  
“No, no, everything’s fine,” Hermione said soothingly. “I didn’t bother with a note.”

  
Ron frowned. “Hermione, we agreed – that’s part of the deal. If you decide to leave your floor, you have to let me know.”

  
“I am perfectly capable of taking a lift two floors on my own. And,” she said, raising her voice slightly as Ron opened his mouth in protest, “as you can see, I’m fine. Besides, I’m here now, so does it really matter?”

  
“What happened to the bit about you not wanting to make my job harder?”

  
“You’re not honestly going to lecture me for leaving my department unsupervised, are you?” Hermione bristled.

  
“I mean, I’m definitely trying to, but clearly it’s not working,” Ron said, his mouth curling into a lopsided grin as he leaned forward across the desk. “Obviously, I’m not as good at it as you are.”

  
“It’s nice to know some things don’t change,” Harry said loudly as Hermione grinned and attempted to swat Ron’s arm. “Like you two fighting. It feels just like old times.”

  
“We’re not fighting!” Hermione cried and Harry snickered as he caught Ron’s eye.

  
“Fine. But if you’re not fighting, then you’re _definitely_ flir–”

  
“So, Hermione!” Ron all but shouted, the tips of his ears burning. “If you’ve willingly walked away from your work, I’m assuming there’s something you need since I doubt this is just a social call.”

  
Hermione shifted in her chair, gently smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “As a matter of fact, I have a bit of a favor to ask of you.”

  
“A favor?” Ron asked and Hermione nodded as she began to jiggle her foot gently.

  
“My parents invited me to come over for dinner tonight. They just got back from a trip to Paris and since Chris is out in Blyth, and I haven't seen them in a while, it seemed like perfect timing.”

  
Ron looked at her uneasily. “I don't know, Hermione. With everything that’s going on… it doesn’t seem safe letting you go out to an unprotected Muggle neighborhood. And I'm pretty sure Kingsley and Tony wouldn’t be too keen on it, either.”

  
Hermione looked slightly deflated. “My parents have nothing to do with what’s going on with the attacks on wizarding businesses. If anything, I could make the argument it’s safer being with them than it is even being here at the Ministry.”

  
It was a hell of a stretch, and despite the defiant look on her face, Ron was sure Hermione knew it, too. But as her expression melted from confident to apprehensive, he felt his will begin to soften. He watched as her cheeks bloomed a delicate pink, and she quickly wetted her bottom lip.

  
“Please, Ron?” she quietly pled, and in an instant, his resolve evaporated completely.

  
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Fine.”

  
Hermione’s face lit up as she smiled. “Really?”

  
“Yeah,” he nodded, ignoring the faint fluttering inside his stomach as she beamed at him, “but I’ll have to let Tony and Kingsley know first. And we’ll need to arrange for a van so I can drive us there.”

  
Hermione’s smile faltered slightly. “Us…?”

  
“Well, yeah, of course.” Hermione and Harry exchanged a quick, sidelong look, but Ron continued. “Look, I know you hate having someone constantly shadow you, but it’s too dangerous to have you go anywhere alone right now.”

  
Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed. She blinked, then nodded slowly. “Oh. Erm… okay. I’ll let my mum know it’ll be four of us for dinner.” She stood, her dark green robes swaying as she moved and as Ron watched her head towards the door, he jumped to his feet and followed after, stopping her just as she reached the exit.

  
“Hey, are you going to change before heading over?”

  
“Yes,” Hermione answered, totally bewildered. “Why?”  
  
  
“I remembered that the day you went shopping with your mum you were wearing Muggle clothing; I figured it might be less awkward if you weren’t wearing Wizard robes,” he said. Hermione gave him a curious look, and he added hastily, “Not that there’s anything wrong with what you’re wearing, you look great–” Ron stopped mid-sentence, his ears burning. “What I mean is, you look great in your robes, but it would be better if you were out of them.” His eyes widened in horror, and the heat from his ears shot down his neck. “I mean, if you were changed into Muggle clothing, not out of your clothes altogether– ”

  
Completely frazzled, Ron’s face flushed deep scarlet. He snapped his mouth shut, terrified that if he said one more thing to her, he would dissolve into thin air. Hermione, whose cheeks were now vibrant pink as well, looked anywhere but at him as she wrung her hands in front of her.

  
“Whatever you choose to wear is fine. It’s a casual sort of dinner,” she said breathlessly.

  
From the corner of his eye, Ron saw Harry stifle his laughter with his fist.

  
“Er– great. No problem. I have a change of clothes here. When should I meet you?”

  
“In the Atrium at five,” Hermione said, still carefully avoiding Ron’s eyes. “I’ll talk to you later, Harry.”

  
She began to move backward towards the exit, but in her haste to leave, she smacked straight into the doorframe with a loud _thump!_ As she stumbled, Ron immediately caught her in his arms, helping to steady her as she righted herself. Hermione, now the color of a ripe tomato, gave a tittering, high-pitched laugh as she shook her head and hurried out of the room and down the corridor.  
  
  
“See ya, Hermione!” Harry called out after her and once the door finally shut again, he roared with laughter. “Oh my God, all I want for the rest of my life is to witness every single awkward exchange between the two of you.” Harry wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. “Merlin, that was brilliant. ‘ _You look great in your robes, but it would be better if you were out of them.’_ Ginny’s gonna love that.” Ron gestured rudely at Harry, who shook with laughter. “Hey, you can be as hacked off as you want, but you do realize you just agreed to have dinner with your ex-girlfriend and her parents, don’t you?”

  
Ron stared blankly for a moment before his eyes went wide and his face fell.

  
“Oh, God… I hadn’t thought of it that way…” he said slowly as he blanched.

  
Harry chuckled, then said reassuringly, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  
“Shit. _Shit!_ Why did I say yes?” Ron said as he began to pace, a wave of panic rising in his chest.

  
“Because apparently when Hermione’s around, you lose your head.”

  
“I can’t go to the Grangers’ house. They’ll murder me!”

  
Harry snorted. “You’re there to protect her and them – they know that.”

  
Ron stared at Harry, his gaze accusatory. “You can’t seriously sit there and tell me her parents don’t think I’m a wanker. ”

  
Harry, who had finally stopped laughing, stared steadily at his friend as he spoke. “Hermione’s parents know you’re working on Rhiney’s case. If you and her are on good terms, then I imagine they’ll be fine with you, too. Just take a deep breath and be yourself.” Harry grabbed a file from the stack Sean had left and begun paging through it. “And, you know, maybe try not to crack too many jokes.”

  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked as he jerked his head in Harry’s direction.

  
“It’s nothing,” Harry said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s just…you get kind of joke-y when you’re nervous.”

  
Ron stopped pacing. “I get _joke-y_?”

  
“It’s not a big deal,” Harry shrugged, “It’s just something Ginny pointed out–”

  
“Oh, well, please tell my _brilliant_ sister that I’m so glad she shared that bit of advice,” Ron spat. “Clearly, I’m completely cured of all my stupid, embarrassing, _joke-y_ tendencies now that she’s pointed that out. It’s not like I’m going to fall into a massive spiral of bad jokes in front of Hermione and her parents until I finally collapse in on myself. There’s no way I’ll make a complete arse of myself tonight now that I know all this! Seriously, cheers, mate!”

  
Ron, now equal parts embarrassed and angry, collapsed back into his chair. Harry stared sheepishly at him and cleared his throat.

  
“You know you just–”

  
“I know I just proved your bloody point!” Ron snapped. He sunk low in his seat and threw his head back in frustration as he covered his face with his hands.

  
From across the room, there was a squeak of hinges followed by a brief, muffled noise like that of shifting paper and a click of something being shut. A sharp, short scraping of chair legs on concrete floors pierced Ron’s eardrums but was immediately replaced by the sound of shuffling footsteps. Finally, there was a creaking of wood only a few feet from him, punctuated by a short huff of breath, and then the sound of heavy glass hitting the metal tabletop of his desk.

  
Ron slowly lowered his hands from his face and brought his head forward again. Harry, who was now occupying the chair Hermione had previously sat in, watched him expectantly, a dark bottle of wine sitting between the two of them.

  
“Are you trying to make up with me by getting me drunk?”

  
“Not exactly,” Harry said, nodding at the bottle. “This was given to me ages ago. I don’t really like wine, but I know Hermione does, and my guess is her parents do, too.”

  
“So, you think a bottle of wine is going to make them forget I’m the joke-y idiot who used to date their daughter?”

  
“I think it’s going to win you points with her parents and her. I’m told it’s pretty good, so it should go over well,” Harry said as he tilted the bottle forward and peered at the label before placing it on the desk again. “Look, I know you’re freaked out. But it’s like you said; things are good between you and Hermione. And from what I saw, she _is_ really happy when you’re around. Hell, she didn’t even fight you on coming with her to dinner, and you know if she were worried, she’d have said something.”

  
Ron considered Harry for a moment and sat up a little higher in his chair. “Yeah, okay…”

  
“You’re going to be fine. It’s like you said, you’ve dealt with way worse before and come out the other end. Just bring the wine and try and keep your nerves steady.”

  
Ron nodded as he took the wine from off his desk. “Yeah… it’s just dinner, right?”

  
“Right,” Harry said as he stood and walked back to his desk. “And as long as you don’t tell Hermione you think she looks good starkers, you’ll be golden.”

  
As Harry reached his desk, a crumpled wad of parchment whizzed past his ear, just missing him by a few centimeters.

  
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  
The sky was dark and gloomy and raindrops the size of Snitches splashed on the windshield as they rolled down the darkened streets. Ron squinted against the black sky as he peered through the rivulets of water running down the glass, looking for the hint of anything familiar.

  
He had only one memory of the Grangers’ house: the summer before fourth year when he had accompanied his father in retrieving Hermione for the Quidditch World Cup. That day had been warm and sunny, and he had told himself his uneasiness could be chalked up to a mixture of excitement at the upcoming match and concern that his father would say something embarrassing in front of Hermione’s Muggle parents.

  
But tonight, there was no question about the source of his discomfort. And as they slowed to a stop at a traffic light, Ron hastily wiped his palms on his jeans before gripping the steering wheel tightly.

  
“At the corner, take a left.”

  
Hermione’s voice jolted him out of his quiet mental spiral and he nodded in return, his mouth suddenly too dry to form words.

  
Up until only a few moments prior, Ron had been pleased with how pleasant the car ride had been. He and Hermione had been alone together for almost a full hour and had filled that time with easy conversation with almost no breaks in between. In fact, in the two months Ron had been working at Rhiney Manor, things between him and Hermione had become warmer and much more comfortable, and he sensed they were falling into old, forgotten patterns from their youth. He was more at ease around her, joking and gently teasing like when they were young, and he noticed a change in her as well. She was much less guarded around him and talked about her work, as well as asking him about his time training to be an Auror, listening to him fastidiously as she drank in every word. She laughed openly and often at his stories in a way that made his heart race and on the rare occasions where they were completely alone together, like today, Ron felt as though he and Hermione were almost right back to where they had been before in their friendship.

  
Before he had torpedoed it, of course.

  
But as Ron sensed they were closing in on the Grangers’ home, their comfortable banter started to wither away, and a thin layer of tension took its place. Hermione, who was busy trying to decipher street signs as they drove, had stopped speaking other than to give directions, her foot tapping rapidly on the floor. And Ron, who was becoming more and more nervous with every passing moment, was no longer sure of where they were and was now secretly convinced they were lost.

  
“Take a right up here, onto Oakfield Gardens. You can park in front of the house with the blue gate.”

  
Oakfield Gardens? House with the blue gate? None of what she said sounded familiar to Ron, but as he rolled to a stop and parked the car, Hermione unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to look at him.

  
“I need to tell you something,” she said, and for the first time since they had gotten in the van, Ron could see just how nervous she was. He almost burst with relief.

  
“I’m really glad you’re going to say something because I didn’t want to be the first to admit it,” Ron said in a rush. “And it’s not a big deal; it’s dark out and I got turned around, too. We’ll just hop out and walk a bit until we’re in a private area, and then we can use Side-Along Apparition–”

  
“What on Earth are you talking about?” Hermione asked, her brows knitted together in confusion.

  
“We’re lost,” Ron said slowly, but when she didn’t respond, he continued, “I can’t really tell if we’re close or not, but nothing around here looks familiar, and that’s definitely not your parents’ house.”

  
Hermione pointed. “My parents’ house is that one just there, across the street.”

  
Ron looked at the small, white house with its stone walkway, outlined by tidy shrubbery and tiny, white flowers sprouting alongside it. Just beyond the windows, he could see the inviting glow of lamplight and he reckoned it was warm and lovely inside.

  
But it was _wrong_. The Grangers’ house, as he remembered it, was made of brick and had a red door with a stained glass window. Outside, there had been a large birch tree that brushed against the bottom of a first-floor window, which led to Hermione’s bedroom. When she was little, Hermione had once told him, she had tried climbing up it so she could read while sitting on one of the branches, but had slipped and fallen, breaking her arm in the process and making her fearful of heights ever since.

  
This house, however, was markedly unremarkable. There was no stained glass window set inside a cherry-red door, no multiple levels or tall birch trees; no memories of a tiny Hermione who would sit and daydream as she stared out her window.

  
Simply put, this was not her house.

  
Hermione, who was still watching him, seemed to read his mind and for a moment, Ron thought he saw a shadow of sadness pass over her features.

  
“Ron, that’s not my childhood home, but it is where my parents live,” she said slowly. “They moved, remember? I told you they–”

  
“Sold their house. You told me back when you showed up at the Burrow before Bill’s wedding,” Ron said, his insides plummeting and his ears burning red. “Shit, Hermione, I can’t believe I forgot.”

  
The memory rushed back to him in an instant; Hermione had surprised him at the Burrow late one evening after sending a short note, only a few weeks after school had let out. Ron had jogged outside to meet her just beyond the safety enchantments, his heart thumping in his chest as he saw her outline against the dark sky. But as he drew closer, he had been alarmed to see she was crying and the moment she had seen him, she’d dropped her things and sank to the ground, her whole body trembling with sobs. Instantly, he had fallen to his knees beside her, cradling her as she wept into his chest.

  
Later, after she had calmed down somewhat, she had told him everything: about the memory charm and her heart-wrenching decision to send her parents away in an effort to protect them; about her fears and the pain of losing her family and the only home outside of Hogwarts that she had ever known. And Ron had sat with her, his heart aching in his chest as he stroked her hair, promising her that she wasn’t alone and she would always have a home and a family at the Burrow and with him.

  
Ron swallowed roughly, suddenly feeling ill.

  
“I am an idiot,” he croaked.

  
“Don’t do that,” Hermione commanded as she shook her head, “It was a simple mistake. Anyway, I wanted to ask if you could do me another favor.”

  
“Another one? Do I need to start keeping tally?” Ron tried to tease, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  
Hermione pressed her mouth into a tight smile as she shifted slightly. “While we’re here, I would like it if you didn’t use magic. At least, not while around my parents unless absolutely necessary.”

  
Now it was Ron’s turn to frown. “Since when do your parents have an issue with your being a witch?”

  
“They don’t; they’re both wildly proud. It’s just… I feel like when I use it around them, I, well–” she sighed. “I’m not asking for you to understand why. I’m just asking if you can do that. For me.”

  
Her cheeks had turned a soft pink again as she stared up at him and Ron found himself suddenly overcome by the desire to cradle her face in his hands while gently brushing his fingertips across her smooth skin.

  
Instead, he nodded.

  
“Whatever you need, Hermione,” he said earnestly and watched as her lips turned upwards into a small smile. Inside his chest, his heart missed a beat.

  
Moving quickly, they both hopped out of the car, trying to shield themselves from the sheets of rain now pummeling against the pavement and ran up the stone walkway to the front door. Hermione knocked three short, sharp wraps, and bounced in place as she waited. Inside his coat pocket, Ron gripped the bottle of wine Harry had given him as if it would disappear if he let go. As the sound of footsteps from inside the house grew louder, Ron’s stomach churned, but with no time left to prepare, the door swung open.

  
“’Mione!” Mrs. Granger cried, beaming at her daughter.

  
“Hi, Mum,” Hermione said as she smiled.

  
“Darling, Hermione’s here!” Mrs. Granger called over her shoulder as she stepped to the side and ushered them in. “Come in, come in! Good Lord, it’s absolutely pouring out there!”

  
They shuffled into the front hallway, dripping water but happy for the blast of warmth from the house. Ron felt his chest constrict faintly as he looked around. Walking into the Grangers’ home flooded his senses with an odd sense of familiarity and he was keenly aware of the fact that he was as nervous as he would have been if he were meeting her parents for the first time.

  
As he pulled off his coat, Mrs. Granger enveloped Hermione in a crushing hug, her own bushy hair momentarily obscuring both their faces. “We’re so happy you were able to come over. It feels like it’s been ages since we last saw you.”

  
“I know,” Hermione said with a guilty smile. She pulled away and shrugged off her coat. “How was Paris?”

  
“Oh, beautiful, of course. We went everywhere: the Louvre, the Champs Elysées, the Eiffel Tower, a cruise on the Seine. I drove your father absolutely mad.”

  
“I imagine he wanted to spend the whole trip at the Louvre,” Hermione laughed and Mrs. Granger shook her head.

  
“Of course he did, the stubborn prat. Though I imagine you would have had quite a similar reaction, had you been there.” Mrs. Granger said knowingly before sighing loudly as she stared down the hallway towards the kitchen. “Would you hurry up and come greet our daughter already?” she called out. “By the time you finish fussing over that silly roast, she’ll have to leave!”

  
“I’ll be out in just a moment! No need to get shirty!” came Mr. Granger’s curt reply.

  
Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes. “He’s started reading every cookbook he can get his hands on and now all he wants to talk about is how to properly braise a lamb shank or what it takes to bake the perfect Victoria sponge. Next thing you know, he’ll be looking to close the practice and open up a restaurant. Meanwhile, I’m left to say hello to our daughter _all on my own_ –”

  
“I’m coming right now!” Mr. Granger called out before quickly coming through the kitchen door. “Honestly, the way you carried on, you’d think I’d been gone an hour…” Ron watched as Mr. Granger quickly strode down the hallway, hastily adjusting his tortoiseshell glasses as he walked. As he caught sight of Hermione, his brown eyes twinkled and he grinned toothily.

  
“Hi, Dad,” Hermione said, beaming.

  
“There’s my brilliant daughter!” he smiled as he hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  
“Mum says you’ve decided to become a chef.”

  
“Your mother exaggerates,” he said and Mrs. Granger made a tutting noise beside him. “I still can’t believe we were able to get you over here tonight. I must say, I was quite happy to hear that boyfriend of yours was away on business for the evening. He seems more than happy to keep you all to himself–”

  
“Mum, Dad, you remember Ron?” Hermione interjected, her cheeks bright red.

  
There was a small beat as Mr. and Mrs. Granger glanced surreptitiously at one another, then Mrs. Granger smiled warmly. “Of course! Ron, it’s lovely to see you again. I don’t think we’ve seen you in person since you were fourteen.”

  
Heat traveled up Ron’s neck and ears and he took a steadying breath in. “It’s good to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Thank you for having me over tonight. I, er, know you weren’t expecting extra company–”

  
Mr. Granger coughed loudly, and Mrs. Granger elbowed him in the ribs.

  
“–but I appreciate it all the same. I’m just glad Hermione could see you both.”

  
“And we appreciate you accompanying Hermione so she could come over,” Mrs. Granger said, as Mr. Granger rubbed his side. “From what she’s told us, things have been quite hectic for you and the other… er, what are they called, sweetheart?”

  
“Aurors, Mum,” Hermione said patiently. “Ron works at our Ministry as an Auror along with Harry.”

  
“Well, that’s quite impressive, isn’t it, dear?” Mrs. Granger said to her husband, who sniffed in response.

  
“I, erm, brought wine,” Ron said quickly as he offered them the bottle. To his side, he could feel Hermione’s eyes on him, and he fought the urge to look at her.

  
“Oh!” Mrs. Granger said as she took it from him and glanced at the label. “That was very thoughtful of you, Ron.” She smiled as she turned to Mr. Granger. “Why don’t you go open this so it can breathe before dinner? I’m sure we would all love a glass with the roast.”

  
Mr. Granger eyed Ron from across the entryway. “Normally, I wouldn’t think to pair a cabernet sauvignon with a pork roast,” he said as he took the bottle from Mrs. Granger and looked it over appraisingly. “And will you be drinking, Ron?”

  
Ron swallowed and shook his head. “I, er, don’t usually drink wine–”

  
“So, you brought this because you don’t want it?”

  
“No! I, erm, heard it’s supposed to be good. I mean, I’d be happy to have a glass if–”

  
“So it’s normal, then, for you to drink while on the job?”

  
“ _Dad_ ,” Hermione hissed.

  
“Shall we move into the drawing room?” Mrs. Granger interrupted, her voice louder than before. “Dinner should be done shortly and we have pictures from our trip to Paris I’d love to show you both.”

  
Mrs. Granger led the way out of the hall, pulling her husband’s arm as he followed suit. Ron, who was now sweating, fumbled with his coat as he hung it on the coatrack. As he went to rub his hands on his jeans again, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and turned to see Hermione looking at him curiously.

  
“You brought wine?” she asked incredulously.

  
Ron peered quickly down the hall where Mr. and Mrs. Granger had just exited. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I’m kinda regretting it now.”

  
“No, no,” Hermione said quickly, “It was a lovely gesture. I can tell they’re impressed.”

  
Ron snorted. “Your dad definitely isn’t.”

  
“Don’t worry about him. He’s just… he’ll relax as the night goes on. You’re doing great,” she said as she smiled and squeezed his wrist. Then, realizing what she had done, she pulled her hand away, her cheeks turning pink once more. She tucked a wet curl behind her ear and began to walk down the hallway towards the sitting room. “I can’t believe you brought _wine_.”

  
Ron watched as she walked away, his head buzzing. Silently touching his wrist, he quickly gathered himself and followed after, suddenly feeling much less anxious than when he first arrived.

  
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  
It was definitely awkward; there was no denying that.

  
Thankfully, Mrs. Granger and Hermione led most of the conversation, talking about the trip to Paris and the latest work Hermione was doing at the Ministry while Ron quietly ate his roasted pork and glazed carrots with mash. Every so often, he could feel Mr. Granger’s eyes on him, as though he were trying to burn a hole through the side of his head, but Ron tried to ignore it.

  
For dessert, Mrs. Granger brought out a plate of biscuits and tea for the table, which Ron took happily. As she sat back down, she smiled warmly as she poured cream into her cup and looked across the table at Ron.

  
“So, Ron, how long have you been at the Ministry?”

  
Ron felt Mr. Granger’s gaze boring into him and swallowed his bite of biscuit with some difficulty.

  
“I started training to be an Auror about three years ago while I was still working at my brother’s shop, but I began at the Ministry full time in mid-September.”

  
“And you feel confident you can handle this sort of work already, even with your lack of experience?” Mr. Granger asked, his tone disapproving. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’ve barely been out of training for two months and already you’re being tasked with handling this big a case?”

  
“Erm, well, it’s not just me,” Ron stuttered, his neck growing hot. “My partner, Tony, has been an Auror for almost twenty years. And it’s really important to me to do well and, erm, of course, I would never allow anything to happen to Hermione. Or to– ”

  
“Dad,” Hermione chided, her expression stern, “Ron is an excellent Auror. He was hand-picked by the Minister of Magic and I happen to know that he was near the top of his training class in all his studies. In fact, the argument could be made that the only reason he came in second on much of the training was because of Harry and you know how difficult it would be for anyone to try and beat him considering his reputation. ”

  
Mr. Granger took a long sip from his cup, still eyeing Ron carefully. Hermione, cheeks pink, glanced at Ron across the table and gave him an apologetic look. But Ron, who felt as though a bomb filled with butterflies had gone off inside him, gave her a small smile and shook his head.

  
“Well, I think it’s wonderful you’re doing so well,” Mrs. Granger said genially as she tried to push the conversation forward. “And if the Minister himself picked you for the job, then that’s nothing to sniff at. Besides, what with all you, Harry, and Hermione did over the years while you were in school, you must have more experience than at least half the Aurors there.”

  
Ron laughed nervously. “Maybe, but I can’t take all the credit. If Hermione hadn’t been there, I don’t think Harry and I would’ve made it through half of what we did. I mean, there were times where her quick thinking literally saved our lives. I know she never had an interest in being an Auror, but I always say that she’d have blown everyone away if she’d trained with us, and that’s without even trying. She’s brilliant.”

  
Mr. Granger had a somewhat pained look on his face as his desire to interrogate Ron was clearly at odds with his desire to boast about his daughter’s accomplishments. Finally, he nodded quickly in agreement before taking a bite of his biscuit, while Mrs. Granger hid her grin behind her tea as she took a sip. Hermione, Ron noticed, was watching him curiously from across the table. He felt his heart thump louder as she met his gaze and smiled.

  
“How’s Chris?” Mr. Granger said loudly, forcing Hermione’s gaze away from Ron. “Still insisting you stay with him rather than move here until your flat is restored, I assume?”

  
“Insisting?” Ron asked.

  
“Dad– ” Hermione started as she rolled her eyes.

  
“Well, he did, didn’t he? Showed up to your building the night of the accident faster than any of us could have and made all the arrangements for you without even asking what you wanted. It was like he was just waiting for an excuse to have you move in.”

  
“He was worried,” Hermione responded, avoiding Ron’s eyes from across the table. “He wanted to make sure I was safe, just the same as you and Mum. Besides, it’s temporary – once the Ministry finishes up its investigation, I can find my own place again.”

  
“So, then why not just stay here?” Mr. Granger pressed. “If you’re not planning on living with him permanently– ”

  
“Honestly, Dad, can we not get into this again?” Hermione said testily, her voice rising. “You know how much I hate–”

  
“Hermione,” Mrs. Granger interjected, “why don’t you help me clear the table and then we can all move into the drawing room to finish our tea.” She then turned to Mr. Granger and her expression, Ron noticed, was eerily similar to Hermione’s when she was annoyed. “Why don’t you take Ron into the other room and show him the chess set Hermione bought you?”

  
Mr. Granger locked eyes with his wife briefly, weighing his options, then sighed as he turned to Ron. “You play chess?”

  
“Yes, sir,” Ron said carefully.

  
“Ron’s brilliant at chess,” Hermione said as she stood and began collecting plates. “I’ve never met anyone as talented as he is.”

  
“Really?” Mr. Granger cocked his eyebrow at her. “Even better than me?”

  
Hermione looked from Ron to her father, then said without hesitation, “Absolutely. There’s no contest.”

  
“Ah!” Mr. Granger cried theatrically, clutching a hand to his chest, “These words are razors to my wounded heart!” Mrs. Granger laughed as she picked up the tea and biscuits while Hermione shook her head. Mr. Granger, now grinning, stood and walked towards the drawing room, stopping briefly to kiss Hermione’s temple before he left. Noticing the puzzled look on Ron’s face, Mrs. Granger leaned towards him.

  
“Shakespeare,” she said simply. “You know, he was the inspiration behind Hermione’s name.” She smiled warmly and walked out of the room towards the kitchen, leaving Hermione and Ron alone.

  
Ron stood and began gathering plates as Hermione walked around her side of the table, clearing the cutlery.

  
“Who’s Shakespeare?” he asked quietly, his brows knitted together in confusion.

  
“He was a Muggle playwright in the late 1500s through the early 1600s who wrote 37 plays and 154 sonnets,” she responded automatically as she came around to his side of the table and took the plates out of his hands. “Mum and Dad tend to quote him often.”

  
“Okay,” he said uncertainly, “But what does he have to do with your name?”

  
Hermione’s eyes went wide for a moment. “I’ll explain later,” she said quickly. “Go – play chess with my father. Trust me, it is a _very_ good sign he’s willing to play with you.” Ron opened his mouth to respond, but she nudged him towards the door. “ _Go_.”

  
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  
Mr. Granger was wholly absorbed by the game, something for which Ron was extremely grateful. They had been playing quietly since Ron had joined Mr. Granger in the sitting room, using the beautiful chess set Hermione had bought, and Ron had to admit that Mr. Granger was certainly a formidable opponent. But with a rush of pride, Hermione’s words echoed inside his head.

_  
Ron’s brilliant at chess. I’ve never met anyone as talented as he is._

  
He watched as Mr. Granger moved his rook forward, taking one of Ron’s pawns in the process with a small, triumphant smile. Ron, however, countered with his bishop.

  
“Check,” he said, and in an instant, the smile on Mr. Granger’s face disappeared.

  
“How did you…?” he mumbled as his eyes swept across the board and Ron fought to keep his expression neutral. Mr. Granger really was a talented chess player. But just as Hermione had said, there was no contest.

  
Ron reached for his cup of tea and took a small sip as he looked toward the kitchen. Inside, Hermione stood next to her mother as she washed dishes, a small tea towel in her hand. He watched as she took a glass from off the counter and laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and he immediately felt a powerful rush of affection towards her.

  
“Ron, I need to ask you something.” Mr. Granger’s voice pulled him from his reverie and he looked back to meet his inquiring gaze. Mr. Granger shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “I realize that what I’m about to say may be a bit uncomfortable, especially considering your, well, _history_ with my daughter. But I would be remiss if I didn’t inquire nonetheless.”

  
Ron’s heart seemed to stop for a moment and he swallowed uncomfortably. “Erm, okay…”

  
Mr. Granger leaned forward conspiratorially. “I would like to know your thoughts on Chris.”

  
Ron blinked. “Oh,” he said, glancing quickly towards the kitchen again. “I, er–”

  
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Granger said as he followed Ron’s gaze. “Nothing you say will be repeated outside of this room. But I would like to know your opinion, both as an Auror and as someone who knows my daughter quite well. Your _honest_ opinion, if you don’t mind,” he added, and Ron nodded.

  
“Well, I don’t really know much about him, at least not on a personal level,” Ron said and Mr. Granger instantly raised an eyebrow. Ron cleared his throat, then pressed on. “He’s very focused on his work, and always seems to be running in and out of meetings. I don’t see him spend a lot of time with Hermione one-on-one, though she’s quite busy, too.” Ron ran his palms down the sides of his jeans before shifting forward to the edge of his chair. “I think… he’s more concerned with how things look to others from the outside. Getting what he needs and doing what he wants is more important than the people who are around him.”

  
Ron looked towards the kitchen again and this time found Hermione’s eyes on him. He smiled, his lips curling into a lopsided grin, and with another tiny thrill, he watched as Hermione smiled back.

  
Mr. Granger slid his king out of harm’s way on the chessboard. “He seems to me to be the type of person who doesn’t accept no for an answer and is accustomed to getting his way no matter what.”

  
Ron watched Mr. Granger carefully. “You mentioned that when Hermione’s flat burned down, he told her she had to move in with him.”

  
“Hermione will tell you he was trying to be helpful, but if you ask me, the whole thing doesn’t sit right.” Mr. Granger sighed. “Perhaps I’m being too protective seeing as she’s my daughter and my only child but–” he paused as he glanced towards the kitchen. When he looked back at Ron, his expression was firm. “I know your job is to watch over Chris and his business first. However, I also know that you are the same person who fought tooth and nail in order to save my daughter’s life. You offered to hide her, to lie for her, and even tried to take her place when you were captured; no hesitation, and no second thoughts. And, perhaps it’s a bit forward of me, but I get the impression that you would still do the same for her, even now.”

  
Ron’s mouth was dry and his heart beat uncomfortably in his chest. But he stared back at Mr. Granger, his jaw set, and nodded solemnly.

  
“I would,” he said quietly. “No hesitation. No second thoughts.”

  
Mr. Granger pressed his mouth into a firm line. “Then I suppose I don’t need to ask, but I need you to promise that you’ll keep Hermione safe,” he said, his dark eyes full of intensity, “from _anyone_ who may not have her best interests at heart.”

  
Ron took a deep breath in and returned Mr. Granger’s steady gaze.

  
“You have my word.”

  
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  
Hermione stood at the sink with her mother, a tea towel in her hand. As she turned over the plate she was drying, she discreetly peered into the drawing room and watched as Ron sat with her father, quietly talking and playing chess.

  
“Hermione, stop worrying. They’re fine,” Mrs. Granger said, handing her another plate.

  
“I know,” Hermione said defensively. “It’s just that Dad was a bit… tough earlier.”  
  
  
“Well, you can’t really blame him, darling. He’s your father. That’s what he’s wont to do when you bring home a boy – interrogate him and make him feel decidedly uncomfortable.”

  
“Ron isn’t some boy I brought home, Mum. He’s here because he has to be.” Mrs. Granger looked at her skeptically, but Hermione doubled down. “Ron and I are just–”

  
“Friends?”

  
Hermione tucked a curl behind her ear. “Something like that.”

  
Mrs. Granger made a tutting noise as she waved a soapy hand dismissively at Hermione. “If Ron is just your friend, then why did he keep sneaking looks at you all throughout dinner, hmm? And what about the little speech he gave about how brilliant you are and how he wouldn’t be where he is today if it weren’t for you?”

  
Hermione’s cheeks flushed pink and she stared pointedly at the plate she was drying. “Mum, stop. Ron and I are merely trying to get along and coexist peaceably. He only said what he did because he was being polite and wanted to avoid being cross-examined by Dad.”

  
“Well, I think you’re wrong,” Mrs. Granger said. She stopped washing and looked at Hermione, her expression soft. “I really don’t think he wants to be friends with you.”

  
Hermione turned to look at her mother, her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. Mrs. Granger placed her hand over Hermione’s and smiled.

  
“Sweetheart, that boy is in love with you.”

  
Hermione blinked once, then a second time. But as her mother continued to look at her sincerely, she felt a laugh bubble up inside her and snorted.

  
“You’re mad. There is no way he’s… you’re mad!” Hermione shook her head, her laughter almost maniacal as she placed a glass in the cupboard above her. “Ron is here to do his _job_. He’s here purely due to obligation, not because he’s nursing some sort of childish crush. There is no way–”

  
“‘ _But love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit,_ ’” Mrs. Granger said in a singsong voice as she turned back towards the sink. 

  
“Oh, don’t you start quoting Shakespeare, too,” Hermione groaned.  
 

“Hermione Jean, don’t you be so quick to dismiss me,” Mrs. Granger said firmly, placing her hands on her hips. “You and Ron were best friends and you fancied each other for a long time, not to mention that you went through hell and back together. He may have acted like a complete prat when he was eighteen, but who knows? Maybe he honestly did believe you two were better off apart than together. You know as well as anyone that pain and grief can make a person do strange things.”  
 

“ _Mum_ –”  
 

“All I’m saying,” Mrs. Granger said, lifting her hand to silence Hermione, “is that after watching the two of you tonight, it certainly would appear that he still has feelings for you.”

  
Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but her retort died on her tongue. Automatically, she looked into the drawing room again and watched as Ron sat with her father playing chess. Sensing her gaze, Ron looked up and gave her a quick, lopsided grin. Hermione’s stomach fluttered and she smiled back.

  
Mrs. Granger leaned in close as she handed Hermione another glass. “And judging from the look on your face, I’d say you still have feelings for him as well.”   
  


* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *  
 

The drive back to the Ministry was quiet. Hermione sighed and stared out the window, dark pavement racing underneath them, as she mulled over the conversation she’d had with her mother.  
 

_But love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit...  
_

Was she right? Hermione was certain her mother was reading into things between Ron and her, but what if she wasn’t? And, more importantly, what did it mean if her mother _was_ correct? Hermione bit her lip and jiggled her foot as she tried to make sense of everything. Seeing Ron after three years had stirred up many strong emotions: anger, embarrassment, regret, heartbreak. But was there more to it than that?

  
“Your dad gave me a book.”

  
Hermione glanced at Ron. “He did?”

  
“Yeah, one of the Shakespeare ones. It’s called _Hamlet_ , I think.”

  
“Oh,” she mused as her foot tapped gently on the baseboard, and Ron quickly looked at her.

  
“Is that bad?”

  
“Quite the opposite. That’s one of his favorites.”

  
“Is it the one you’re named after?”

  
“No. I’m named after a character in another Shakespeare play called _A Winter’s Tale._ Queen Hermione,” she said as she rolled her eyed.

  
Ron chuckled. “That’s fitting.”

  
Heat crawled up her neck and blossomed across her cheeks. “Is this your way of telling me I’m a snob again?” she asked, grateful for the relative dark inside the van.

  
“What? No-” Ron said quickly and Hermione looked at him warily. “I just mean it’s… sort of like chess.”

  
“It’s like chess?” she said slowly and Ron shrugged.

  
“In chess, obviously the king’s important, but he’s also the weakest and most vulnerable of the pieces. But the queen? She’s powerful and does pretty much whatever she wants. You lose your queen, and you’ll probably lose the game. And that’s like you; you’re strong and brave, and without you, the rest of us don’t really stand a chance. ”

  
Sparks flared to life inside her chest. “Oh,” Hermione breathed and she stared pointedly out the window again. Thoughts raced through her brain and once again her head was filled with the sound of her mother’s voice.

_  
Sweetheart, that boy is in love with you._

  
Hermione shook her head distractedly before clearing her throat.

  
“Thank you again for taking me to my parents’ house.”

  
“It was nice,” Ron said. “I think they might even sort of like me.”

  
Hermione smiled. “My father doesn’t lend his favorite play to just anyone. I mean, I hate to say I told you so–”

  
“Well, now you’re just openly lying to me.”

  
“ –but,” she said loudly as she tried not to laugh, “whatever you said to him while you were you were playing chess must have made quite the impression.”

  
The smile on Ron’s face faded. “Right,” he said and gripped the steering wheel, knuckles flashing opaque. He was quiet for a moment, then finally said, “You know, your dad seems pretty worried about you.”

  
Hermione stiffened slightly in her chair as her heart began to jump.

  
“My father is overreacting,” she said coolly.

  
“Is he though?” Ron asked carefully and Hermione stared pointedly at the wet pavement ahead of them. “Look, I know you don’t like talking about the fire at your flat, but if what your dad said about Rhiney just swooping in and telling you you’re moving in with him–”

  
“Chris was concerned and he wanted to help,” Hermione said testily. “Him telling me to come stay at the manor wasn’t some sort of nefarious act – he was being considerate!”

  
“But if he hadn’t _told_ you to, would you have gone?” Ron pressed as he struggled to keep his voice even.

  
“What does that matter?” Hermione snapped, her cheeks reddening again. “Are you suggesting I made a mistake by moving in with Chris?”

  
“I never said that!” Ron said in a rush, though from the tone of his voice and the way he gripped the steering wheel, Hermione could tell he felt otherwise. “All I’m trying to get at is that maybe your dad has a point. You’ve been through enough already without now having to deal with threats from a terrorist organization!”

  
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much!” Hermione spat and Ron choked back a laugh.

  
“Bloody hell, you think I don’t know that?” Ron glanced at her incredulously. “Honestly, if you think for one second I’m not painfully aware of the fact that you could hex me or anyone else into oblivion, then you’re clearly not as clever as I thought!”

  
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest as she made an angry tutting noise. They drove on in silence, Ron stealing glances at her as he drummed his fingers rapidly against the steering wheel and she stared icily out the window, foot tapping incessantly against the floor. After a few tense minutes, Ron sighed.

  
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Her tapping slowed and she loosened the grip on her arms. Ron paused, then said in a low rumble, “Come on, Hermione. Please don’t be angry.”

  
At his quiet plea, Hermione softened almost instantly. She chewed the inside of her lip and ran her hands along the front of her jeans, internally struggling with what she should say. Finally, she took a slow breath in.

  
“The reason I don’t like talking about the fire at my flat is because every time I do, the conversation morphs into something else,” she said softly. She could feel Ron’s eyes on her, but she continued to stare down at her hands as they gripped her knees. “People talk about how it’s probably connected to Chris and the different kinds of spells that may have been cast and if it was dark magic or if this means I’m now a target as well. And I know it’s childish and stupid of me and, quite frankly, I’m embarrassed to even say this out loud because obviously all of those things are important and they need to be addressed. But–” Hermione stopped, her throat suddenly tight.

  
“But what?” Ron asked gently and Hermione closed her eyes briefly.

  
“That was my _home_ ,” she said, her voice shaky and her eyes prickling with tears. “My parents sold the house I grew up in because of what I did to them and they don’t even remember doing it, and I have to live with that. And Hogwarts stopped feeling like home the second I went back, alone. But my flat… that was where I started to put myself back together. So, when it burned down, I didn’t just lose the place I lived but I lost all the memories and mementos I had saved from over the years. Books, gifts, letters, photographs… _everything_ ,” Hermione’s voice caught in her throat and she turned her face to the side, desperate to hide the tears now threatening to fall down her cheeks. She stared at the rain falling on the window and realized they had returned to the Ministry already. Beside her, Ron shifted in his seat as he turned to face her.

  
“I’m really sorry, Hermione,” he said, his voice soft and low and she took a shaky breath in.

  
“What do you have to be sorry for?” she replied, discreetly wiping her eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  
“Well, that’s a first,” he joked and Hermione gave a watery laugh.

  
“Yes, well…” she trailed off before sniffling and turning towards him again. Ron’s eyes were on her, tender and filled with concern, and Hermione’s heart jumped as they locked with hers. “I’ve never shared that with anyone before.”

  
His eyes grew wide for a moment before he gave her a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you told me.”

  
“Me too,” she said, a small smile pulling at her lips as well.

  
Ron ran a hand through his hair as he cleared his throat. Through the dark of the van interior, Hermione could have sworn the tips of his ears had turned bright red.

  
“We should probably head back inside,” he said as he grabbed their coats from the backseat. Before he reached for the doorknob, he turned back to her again. “You okay?”

  
Hermione nodded. “Yes. Thank you for asking.”

  
“Anytime,” he said as he held out her coat. She stared uncertainly, opening her mouth to say something and then, thinking better of it, closed it again. Ron frowned. “What?”

  
“Nothing. I–” she stopped as she nervously tucked a curl behind her ear, “I’m just coming to the realization that I enjoy having you around. Up until very recently, I didn’t think that was possible. But I’m grateful for it all the same.”

  
Ron swallowed hard and gave a short, breathy laugh. “I think it’s nice, too,” he said, his voice gravelly. “And I’m happy we’re becoming friends again. I’ve… well, I’ve really missed you.”

  
It was as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Hermione fought to keep her expression neutral even as her entire body burned as though suddenly on fire. Inside her head, her mother’s voice all but screamed at her.

_  
SWEETHEART, THAT BOY IS IN LOVE--_

  
“It’s late!” Hermione said abruptly, her voice shattering the air around them as she snatched her coat from his outstretched hand. “We should get back to the manor - we don’t want anyone worrying about where we are,” she said in a rush as she fumbled with the doorknob before tumbling out. Scurrying up to the Ministry, she briefly glanced behind her where Ron was still slowly climbing out of the van. “Are you coming?” she called out as she reached the double doors that led to the building.

  
“Yeah,” he said, a hint of annoyance edging in his voice.

  
Hermione watched as he walked towards her. His copper hair, now auburn from the rain, fell lazily across his forehead and the tips of his ears were still bright pink, though she couldn’t be certain if it was from the cold or their conversation. But as he approached, he slowed to a stop and grabbed the door beside her, holding it open as he flashed a brief smile and let her through. Hermione stifled a shiver as she hurried inside, Mrs. Granger’s words now ringing in her ears.

_  
And judging from the look on your face, I’d say you still have feelings for him as well._


End file.
